Tooth and Claw
by August08
Summary: Fresh out of Hell, Dean battles nightmares of his time in the Pit. To get his brother's mind off of the nightmares, Sam takes Dean on a hunt that seems like a routine werewolf attack. However, when they come face to face with a FBI agent with a past as dark as theirs, the brothers discover that there are some things out there that even they haven't seen.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : Welcome to the dark, twisted world that is my imagination. I've always loved Supernatural, even though the first two seasons scared the ever living daylights right out of me. The episode "Bugs". *shudders* My worst nightmare come true. However, the show captured my heart and I've been following it faithfully. This story has gone through a lot, and I mean _a lot_ of revisions over the years. And it's only now that I've decided to post it. So, I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always welcome. However, if you don't like the story, don't read it. I'm looking to improve myself as a writer and negativity never helps. But, I do welcome constructive criticism. Well, enough of my blabbing, I'll let you get to the story. Enjoy.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing associated with Supernatural. I only own the OCs.

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Red Rock, Virginia

The cool night air was filled with the struggling cries of a dying cow. Mark Tohley stood watch outside the barn, his finger tapping impatiently against his gun. What was taking her so long? With all that noise, someone was going to come snooping around. Finally, the death cries stopped and all fell silent. Mark looked over his shoulder to see a woman with short, dark blonde hair and a satchel hanging over her shoulder walk out of the barn. She twisted the cap of a large travel mug as she walked. Mark glanced around the dark farm. A light had turned on in the house that hadn't been on before. No doubt the farmer was up and about to check on his livestock.

The woman stepped up, shoving the travel mug into the satchel. Mark could hear other travel mugs clink against each other inside the bag. The woman looked up at him, her green eyes glowing in the moonlight. Mark holstered his gun and they made their way off the farm land and down the long drive to where a plain wrap, black sedan was parked, hidden by the trees.

"Did you get enough?" Mark asked as they climbed into the car.

"This will do me for another little while," the woman replied, pulling on her seat belt.

Mark shook his head as he started the car. "These late night cravings of yours have got to stop, Ireland," he muttered, pulling away from the farm.

Ireland O'Conner ran her hand over the satchel and sighed. "I could be bleeding humans dry, if that's what you would prefer," she told him.

Mark shuddered. "No, thank you," he said. "I like my partner. I need my partner. I just don't want to explain to the Director that my partner drinks blood."

Ireland chuckled. "Then, don't," she told him. "It's as simple as that."

She opened the satchel and pulled out a travel mug. Opening the top, she took a long drink. Mark glanced over at her when she sighed in satisfaction.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

"Very," Ireland answered. "Thanks, Mark."

"When you crave something, you crave something," Mark stated. "I'd much rather have you butcher a cow than a person."

Ireland rolled her eyes. "You know very well I don't drink human blood, Mark."

"I thought you were a vampire."

"A _dhampyre_ , Tohley. Not a vampire," Ireland corrected him.

"What's the difference?" Mark asked.

"I can't turn people," Ireland told him. "And I can also eat human food. I just...prefer blood."

She took another sip from her mug. Mark nodded slowly.

"So, you're vegetarian. Of sorts," he said.

Ireland thought for a moment before shrugging. "I suppose," she agreed, taking another sip.

Mark smiled and shook his head. He glanced in the rear view mirror for a split second, but did a double take when he thought he saw a shadowy figure behind the car. However, when he blinked the figure was gone. Mark rubbed his eyes. He was probably just tired and seeing things. He turned up the heat and settled in for the long drive back to D.C. Mark chanced a peek over at Ireland, who was sound asleep in the passenger's seat. He smiled and turned his attention back to the road.

It had been six years since he had first met Ireland. He had been a bit apprehensive about having her as a partner at first. She had been secretive, calculating; choosing her words carefully as if she was hiding something. Mark had stumbled upon her reasons for being such a way a year ago. She had disappeared during an investigation out in rural Maryland. They had been chasing down a suspect in the woods. Mark had heard terrified cries and had hurried off to find the source. When he arrived, however, he had found Ireland bent over a deer, her mouth to the animal's throat.

Naturally, he had freaked out. He had thought vampires were only stuff of myth and legend; existing only in books and movies. Ireland had assured him she wasn't going to hurt him, or had hurt any human. She had called herself a dhampyre, the child of a vampire and a human. Mark had had a hard time wrapping his mind around such a concept, but he couldn't leave her to wander around alone. So, he did what any partner would do. He kept an eye on her. Ireland would do her research and only feed off of animals that were meant for slaughter, and he would be her getaway driver.

Ireland stirred, mumbling something in her sleep. Keeping his eyes on the road, Mark reached back and pulled a blanket out of the backseat. He draped the blanket over Ireland to ward off the cold. She settled down and fell back to sleep. The drive back home couldn't end fast enough for Mark's liking. He hated driving at night. Since meeting Ireland, he had often wondered what other creatures existed. He now knew vampires were real, but what about ghosts? Or werewolves, for that matter? Anything was possible, he supposed. He just hoped the real monsters stayed where they always lurked. In the shadows.

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Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** : see chapter one

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Sam's eyes snapped open when he heard someone yell his name. He sat up in bed, listening; hoping he had just been dreaming. Then, it came again. Sam threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed. The wooden stairs thumped and creaked under his heavy footsteps. Somewhere in the house a door opened. Sam ran into the living room just as his name was yelled out a third time. He rushed over to the couch where Dean was tossing fitfully in his sleep.

"Dean," Sam called. "Dean, wake up."

Dean's face was twisted in fear and panic. He yelled out in his sleep, his body trembling in terror. Sam's hands hovered above his brother's shoulders, not sure what to do. He knew from growing up that if Dean had night terrors it was a bad idea to touch him. Dean had a tendency to lash out at whoever touched him during a night terror. And judging by the way he was tossing, this was a bad one. Sam could hear footsteps pound down over the stairs.

"Sam!" Dean screamed.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Dean, you have to wake up!"

The next thing he knew, Sam was flat on his back on the floor with Dean's hands clenched tightly around his throat. He couldn't even remember grabbing his brother to wake him up. Sam clawed at his brother's hands to try to loosen the death grip. The lights shot on just as Sam started to black out. Damn, Dean's grip was strong.

"What the hell? Dean!" Bobby yelled.

The older hunter rushed over and grabbed a hold of the back of Dean's shirt. Sam took a deep, choking breath as Bobby pulled Dean off of him. He blinked the lights from his vision. Sam looked up just in time to see Bobby throw a glass of water in Dean's face. The eldest Winchester gasped in surprise and blinked several times as the real world came into focus. Dean looked around, finding himself in Bobby's living room. Sam was on the floor and Bobby was standing in front of him with an empty glass in his hand and a concerned yet pissed off look on his face. Realization began to dawn and guilt quickly set in.

"I did it again," Dean muttered in horror.

Sam coughed as he got to his feet. "Yeah...you did," he grunted.

Dean ran his hands over his face. "Sammy, I'm so sorry."

"Were you tryin' to kill your brother?" Bobby asked.

"Of course not," Dean replied.

"Then, what the hell were you thinkin'?"

Dean didn't know how to answer. There was no excuse for almost killing Sam. He hung his head and buried his face in his hands. The nightmares were getting worse. He had thought that after a month of being back in the living world the nightmare would be over. Sadly, he hadn't been pulled out of Hell unscathed. His arms still bore Castiel's handprints. He was still wrapping his mind around the concept of the existence of angels. But, Sam had a point. There were demons, so why couldn't there be angels? Dean looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Sam and Bobby were looking at him in concern. However, Dean knew what they were really thinking. They thought he was damaged goods. He was broken, couldn't be fixed. Dean turned away, not being able to look them in the eye.

"I need some air," he mumbled before heading for the front door.

Sam and Bobby watched Dean disappear outside. Bobby sighed. He didn't want to admit it, but he could see the broken look in Dean's eyes. The eldest Winchester always put on a brave, confident face. But, this...Even Dean Winchester couldn't immediately bounce back from doing time in Hell. Heaven only knew what he went through in the Pit. Dean said he couldn't remember his time down under, but the nightmares told a different story.

The cool fall air did wonders to wake him up. Dean wrapped his arms around his chest, his breath coming out in small, white puffs. He looked around the scrap yard. Bobby had graciously taken them in for the last month, giving them a place to rest until they got back on their feet and started hunting again. However, Dean didn't feel much like getting back into the swing of things. He had even considered telling Sam that he was done with hunting. He had a good run. He had killed the yellow eyed bastard who killed their mother and father, he had saved his brother from death. Granted, that last one had earned him a trip to the Pit, but at least Sam had been okay.

Dean touched a hand to his left shoulder. He could still feel the raised skin from where Castiel had grabbed him. It gave new meaning to the phrase "touched by an angel". Dean walked over to the Impala and leaned his back up against the passenger side door. He looked up at the clear night sky. The stars were especially bright tonight.

"Why me?" Dean asked. "You knew I'd be no good to anyone. So, why did you pull _me_ out?"

He wasn't expecting an answer. Castiel had his own battles to fight. Although, a little chat with the angel wouldn't have been such a bad thing. Dean even considered punching the haloed freak out for putting him through this misery. Not that Hell was any better, but the least Castiel could have done was prevent him from reliving the horror every time he closed his eyes.

"Dean?" came a concerned, soft voice.

Dean looked down to see Sam walk up. The older brother turned away, not being able to look at his sibling. He swallowed thickly as Sam approached.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry," Sam apologized. "I didn't mean to make you snap."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing, Sam," Dean told him. "I crossed a line. Nightmare or no, it doesn't excuse the fact that I tried to kill you."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Sam tried to joke.

"It's not funny, Sam," Dean said.

Sam sighed and looked down at the ground. "We need to move forward," he stated. "We've been sitting on our butts too long. We need to get back out there, start hunting again. If nothing else, it'll take your mind off of the nightmares."

"That's a little hard to do since I see the Pit every time I blink," Dean commented.

"Dean," Sam started.

"I'm tired, Sammy," Dean sighed, glancing around the yard. "Of everything. I try to do good and look where it gets me."

Sam shifted on his feet and sighed. "You were being a brother," he said, making Dean turn to face him. "If our roles had been reversed, I would have done the same thing. It's what we do. We look out for each other. We're family, we're all we've got."

Dean lowered his gaze to the ground. He had to admit, if he had to do it again, sell his soul to save his brother, he wouldn't hesitate. He didn't the first time, why would he the second?

Dean rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Let's go back inside. I'm freezing my ass off out here."

Sam chuckled. "You want the bed, this time?" he asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nah. I'm fine with the couch."

"Suit yourself, jerk," Sam said, turning back towards the house.

"I will, bitch," Dean replied, following his brother inside.

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Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** : see chapter one

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Ireland rubbed her tired eyes before glancing at the clock on her desktop. 11:30 pm. She was one of a handful of agents still slaving away at their work. This was the part about the FBI she didn't enjoy, the paperwork. Mark, Andrew and Steven had left for the cabin hours ago. She wondered why she hadn't joined them, why she insisted on finishing her paperwork before heading to Red Rock. Ireland looked down at the reports that lay before her on the desk. She wasn't going to get them done just by staring at them.

Ireland picked up her pen again and started at the reports. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. She looked up without moving her head. The Director stood in the doorway and he was looking right at her. A cold chill shot down Ireland's spine. He gave her the creeps. Shaking her head, Ireland went back to the reports. She didn't have time to think about the Director, she had a party to get too. Ireland picked up her travel mug and took a sip. The delicious taste of copper awakened her senses, sparking new energy. Blood was her coffee, her addiction. Iron was to her as caffeine was to humans. A red flag popped up in her thoughts; she was down to her last two mugs.

 _Have to make a blood run on the way to the cabin,_ Ireland thought as she took another sip.

She lost herself in her work, falling into her own little world. When she looked at the clock again after finally finishing her work was 1:30 am. Ireland dropped her pen and closed the files. She picked up her travel mug and satchel and headed for the exit. Making her way out to her car, Ireland pulled her keys out of the satchel and unlocked the car. She opened the driver's side door and climbed in behind the wheel before closing the door again and turning on the engine.

Pulling away from FBI headquarters was pure bliss. Sure she was majorly late, but at least she was going to be able to spend some of the weekend with the guys. Ireland shrugged out of her jacket and dropped it on the passenger's seat. She turned on the radio and one of her CDs started playing. Ireland turned the music up and began drumming her hands against the wheel to the beat of the drums. She was soon leaving D.C. behind and driving over open road. She had her satchel full of travel mugs and was ready for some serious relaxation.

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It was well past two o'clock in the morning before Ireland pulled into the drive at the cabin. Mark's car was parked off to the side, leaving plenty of room for her to park hers. Ireland turned off the engine and grabbed her satchel before climbing out of the car. She closed and locked the door, heading to the front door. She swung the strap of the satchel over her shoulder as she walked. She had enough blood to last her a couple of weeks, if she spared them along. Hopefully she wouldn't go blood thirsty over the weekend. She didn't want to freak Andrew and Steven out like she did to Mark a year ago.

Ireland approached the cabin. It was dark, which was odd since the guys liked to stay up and have a few drinks. However, when she checked her watch, Ireland remembered that it was two o'clock in the morning. They were probably all passed out by now. She walked up the short steps and reached out to take the door handle. She twisted the door knob and frowned. The door was locked. Did they forget she was coming? Ireland tried again, but the door was barred shut. She knocked on the door.

"Mark?" she called out. "Mark, open up. It's me."

When there was no answer, Ireland banged her fist against the door. The wood rattled against the loose hinges. She could break the door down, but she didn't want to pay for the damages. Andrew was very protective over his cabin.

"Drew?" Ireland called. "Steve?"

Still no answer. She stepped back and looked around. Ireland reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She only had enough reception for emergency calls.

"Damn," she hissed, shoving the phone back in her pocket. Growling in annoyance, Ireland banged her fist against the door as hard as she could. "Someone open up!" she yelled.

Her sensitive hearing suddenly picked up a sound coming from the back of the cabin. Ireland hurried back to her car and grabbed her gun, depositing the satchel on the passenger's seat. With the gun clenched tightly in her hands, Ireland crept around the back of the cabin. She peeked in through the windows as she went, but couldn't see anything with the curtains drawn. Ireland turned back to the path in front of her when suddenly something shot out at her. She screamed as the shadow slammed into her, knocking her to the ground.

Ireland grabbed her gun and scrambled to her feet. However, by the time she regained her footing, whatever had knocked her down was gone. That's when she smelled it. The thick, heavy scent of iron. With her heart sinking into her stomach, Ireland rushed to the back door. It was wide open, hanging precariously on its busted hinges. Ireland stumbled into the back porch and switched on the lights. A scream tore from her throat when she beheld the massacre in front of her.

Andrew and Steven were lying face up on the living room floor. Their torsos were gapping holes, their internal organs missing. Ireland put a hand over her mouth to keep herself from getting sick. They were also pale, as if every last drop of blood in their bodies had been drained out of them. Ireland backed up and stumbled out of the cabin, her eyes darting around the dark trees.

"Mark!" she screamed in horror and panic. "Mark!"

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Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** : Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. Your support means the world to me.

 **Disclaimer** : see chapter one

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"So, what's this case you're dragging me to, again?" Dean asked as he pulled at his tie.

"Red Rock, Virginia," Sam read from his tablet. "A woman was meeting up with her friends at a cabin one of them owned, but when she got there, two of them had been massacred and the third was missing."

"Cause of death?" Dean asked instinctively, turning on to a dirt road.

"Uh..." Sam huffed through clenched teeth. "Disembowelment," he replied. "As well as having their blood completely drained."

Dean slowly frowned, glancing over at his brother for a quick moment. "Seriously?" he asked.

Sam nodded, rereading the report. "The only blood found at the crime scene was the blood from the wounds in the victim's torsos," he explained.

"Damn," Dean hissed. "Poor lady. Going to the cabin for a relaxing weekend and come to find that." He slowed down when he came to the barricade. "Ah, hell."

Sam looked through the windshield to see the FBI crime scene unit truck. Dean put the car in park and turned off the engine.

"You failed to mention this was an FBI case," he complained.

"I didn't know. The report failed to mention that detail," Sam defended.

"We are so going to jail," Dean grumbled as he got out of the car.

Sam followed his brother as they approached the yellow tape. The sheriff turned as they walked up. The siblings flashed their fake badges.

"I'm agent Manson, this is my partner agent Walker," Dean said.

"FBI's pulling out all the stops," the sheriff noted. He turned back to look at the CSU. "Can't say I blame the Bureau. After all, it was your men."

"Where's the woman who found the bodies?" Sam asked.

The sheriff looked back at him. "You mean agent O'Conner? She's right over there," he replied, pointing to a woman with short, dark blonde hair. She was sitting on the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket.

Dean gave Sam a hard look before walking over to the ambulance. Sam gave the sheriff a grateful smile before following his brother. Dean walked up to the woman, identified by the sheriff as agent O'Conner.

"Excuse me," Dean said. "Agent O'Conner?"

The woman looked up, her green eyes wet with tears. "Ireland," she muttered. "Who are you?"

Dean hesitated, not sure what to do. The best he could do was give it a shot. "Agent Manson," he replied. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Sam. "And my partner, agent Walker."

"You boys must be new," Ireland said, her voice dull and distant. "The Bureau's sending rookies to handle the case, now, are they?"

Dean wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not by her comment. However, Sam piped up before he could say anything.

"We're here to help in any way we can," the youngest Winchester replied.

"Not much you can do," Ireland told him, wiping tears from her eyes. "Drew and Steve are already dead. And Mark..." She trailed off, shaking her head. She took a sip from a travel mug in her hands.

"We can find who did this," Sam assured her.

Ireland glanced up at him. "Have you seen the bodies?" she asked. "It looks like Dracula and the Wolfman teamed up to kill my friends." She shook her head again. "If you believe that monster movie crap," she muttered through another sip of her coffee.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Dean could only offer his brother a shrug.

"Bodies are still inside if you want to see for yourselves," Ireland said, her voice dull and distant.

"We'll be right back," Sam said.

The brothers headed into the cabin. As soon as they stepped inside, Dean felt his stomach lurch at the sight of the massacre. He put a hand to his mouth for a quick second before lowering it again. He had seen werewolf attacks countless times, but this was beyond anything he had ever seen before. Dean looked up at Sam who seemed like he was having a hard time keeping his breakfast down. It was too early for this. The sun wasn't even up yet.

"I've been away too long," Dean muttered as he swallowed down an urge.

"You and me both," Sam added.

Dean studied the crime scene. The windows were locked, there were no signs of forced entry. So, whoever did this had been someone they knew. Dean turned and left the cabin. Sam joined him outside. Dean walked up to the Impala and leaned up against it.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Some hunter I am," Dean mumbled, hanging his head, fighting not to get sick.

"You've been away from the game for a while, Dean," Sam told him. "You're going to be rusty."

Dean looked up at him. "So, what do you think happened?" he asked. "No forced entry. Innards missing. Drained of blood. Did a shifter, vamp and werewolf team up?"

Sam frowned. "Why do you say shifter?" he wanted to know.

"They knew their attacker," Dean said. "If it hadn't been someone they knew, there would be busted windows, busted doors. There's none of that."

Sam nodded. "Good point," he replied.

Dean gazed over the top of the Impala at agent O'Conner. As if sensing his eyes on her, Ireland turned and met his gaze. Dean drummed his fingers against the top of the car before pushing away and making his way over to where she was sitting.

"Something you need to know, agent Manson?" Ireland asked.

"Were you the only one your friends were expecting?" Dean questioned.

"Yes," Ireland answered truthfully. "However, if you're implying I had something to do with my friend's deaths, you might want to take a look at the back door."

"Why the back door?" Dean asked.

"Seeing is how it's hanging off the hinges, I would expect that was the point of entry," Ireland mused, taking a sip from her travel mug. "It was definitely the exit point."

Dean stood up a little straighter. He hadn't noticed the busted back door. Ireland slowly sipped from her mug. She stared at the man in front of her. He was so wet behind the ears it wasn't even funny. He clearly didn't know how to work a crime scene, or ask the proper questions. He just assumed that she had something to do with her colleagues' deaths. She may have been a monster in human clothing, but she hadn't killed anyone who hadn't posed a threat to her or her partner.

This guy was cute...to some extent. Especially when he was flustered. Ireland took another sip from her mug. She wondered what he really did for a living. He clearly wasn't with the FBI. The agent part of her wanted to slap the cuffs on him and haul him in for impersonating a federal agent, however the other part of her wanted to see if he could crack this case. She was curious to see if he had some special angle that the FBI and other law enforcement didn't.

Ireland took a deep, subtle breath. He had a unique scent. One she couldn't place. And his eyes. So burdened and heavy. She could only imagine what those dark green eyes had seen.

"Did you notice anything strange?" Dean asked.

"Besides my friend's mangled corpses?" Ireland asked back.

"Any sounds? Smells?" Dean quizzed.

Ireland broke eye contact as she thought back on the night's events. "Something ran into me," she replied after a moment.

"What something?" Dean wanted to know.

Ireland turned back to him. "It was dark, agent Manson, and I don't have night vision," she told him. "All I know is, it was a person. Whether it was male or female, I don't know."

Dean nodded. "Thank you for your time," he said.

As he turned to walk away, the wind changed direction and Ireland caught another whiff of the scent. Sulfur. He smelled of sulfur. Now, why would an agent, even a fake one, smell like sulfur? Ireland frowned in contemplation. That was interesting.

"Agent Manson," she called out.

Dean stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

"Keep me in the loop?" Ireland requested. "My partner is still out there. If you find who did this, you may find Mark. I want to be there when you find him."

Dean smiled and nodded. "Will do, agent O'Conner," he promised.

Ireland smiled back. "Thank you."

She watched as he walked back to where his partner was still standing by their car. Ireland tilted her head to one side. Her father had owned a car similar to it. Only her father's Impala had been a year younger. Ireland took the last sip of her drink. '67 Chevy Impala. These agents had good taste in cars. Hopefully this wouldn't be the last time their paths crossed. There was a story behind the sulfur smell. And Ireland suspected it was one hell of a story.

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Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer** : see chapter one

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Dean closed his eyes as he savored the rich, juicy flavor of the barbecue bacon cheeseburger. He sighed in satisfaction, earning him a chuckle from Sam. Dean opened his eyes and fixed his brother with a pointed look. Sam merely shrugged and went back to his garden salad. He had his tablet in front of him as he read articles he had saved on werewolves. Even though they already knew the lore on werewolves, Sam wanted to know if they ever teamed up with vampires. So far, his search had turned up nothing on a werewolf/vampire team-up.

"Your salad's getting warm," Dean commented before taking another large bite out of his burger.

Sam ignored his brother's jibe and continued reading. His attention was brought to a notification to a new news article. Sam tapped the icon and the article opened up on the screen. His eyes skimmed the words. His brow furrowed. Dean noticed the look and immediately became concerned.

"What?" he asked.

"Livestock deaths," Sam answered.

Dean laid his burger down and wiped his hands in his napkin. "How many?" he wanted to know.

Sam scrolled up. "Dozens over the last few years. However, they've all been livestock meant for slaughter. So, it's probably nothing."

"Let's still check it out," Dean said, picking up the burger again. "Nothing could turn into something."

When they were finished eating and had the meal paid for, the brothers climbed into the car and headed to the local farm. Dean had to wonder why this story was just breaking. In a small town like Red Rock, livestock was a big part of the town's lively hood. He pulled up the long dirt drive and parked near a worn, dark blue truck. The brothers go out of the car and headed up to the farmhouse. Dean knocked on the door and waited for an answer. A few minutes later, a middle aged man opened the door. He regarded the young men before him.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The brothers flashed their FBI badges. "I'm agent Walker and this is my partner, agent Manson," Sam said. "We're investigating a double murder and a missing persons case here in town, and we were told that you were having some trouble."

"Don't see how cattle deaths are any concern of the FBI," the man admitted.

"Whatever attacked those men could possibly have killed your cattle," Dean explained.

That just seemed to confuse the poor man even more. "It was an animal that killed my cattle, agent," he said. "Why would the FBI be investigating an animal attack?"

"We're just eliminating possibilities," Sam told him. "Have you noticed anything strange lately? Sounds? Smells?"

"Besides the cries of dying cows?" the man asked.

"Scratching. Rattling pipes. The smell of rotten eggs," Sam clarified.

The man frowned. "The hell kinda FBI agents are you?" he asked.

"The unorthodox kind," Dean answered without missing a beat.

The farmer gave the brothers a hard look before speaking again. "No sounds. And no smells, either. Other than the natural scents of living on a farm," he said.

"Alright. Thank you for your time," Sam said.

The Winchesters turned and started back towards the car. Dean shoved his hands in his pants pockets. He gazed around the quiet farm. It was peaceful out here. No heavy traffic, no nosy neighbors. Just endless acres of open fields and fresh, clean air.

"No sounds, so it wasn't a ghost," Sam was saying off in the distance. "No sulfur, so no demons." He trailed off for a moment. "Dean? Dean, are you even listening?"

Dean looked up at his brother. "I'm listening," he replied.

"What did I say?" Sam quizzed.

"No ghosts, no demons," Dean summarized. "I pay attention."

"Uh huh," Sam muttered. "Where were your thoughts just then?"

They arrived at the car. Dean paused to take another look around the farm. Sam didn't miss the haunted look like washed over his brother's face. His eyes echoed with screams no doubt Dean had let loose. Sam leaned against the car, folding his hands on top.

"Dean?"

"I forgot what silence sounded like," Dean whispered.

He looked skyward when he heard the sweet sound of birds flying overhead.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Sam asked in concern.

Dean glanced over at his brother. "I'm fine, Sammy," he stated, opening the driver's side door.

He climbed in behind the wheel and closed the door. Sam got into the car behind his brother. Dean started the engine and pulled away from the farm. They drove in silence back to town. Sam knew there was something on Dean's mind. His brother was never this quiet, especially when working a case. Maybe it had been a bad idea to force Dean back into hunting. Sam gazed out the window as they drove. Maybe he should have let Dean decide for himself if he wanted to hunt again.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam whispered.

Dean quickly glanced at him. "For what?"

"For dragging you into this case," Sam replied.

Dean shrugged. "What's done is done. We finish the job and move on. That's how it's always been."

Sam looked at his brother. "But, were you ready to come back?" he asked. "Honestly?"

"Ready or not, we're here, now," Dean told him. "Best thing to do is to finish the job and head home."

Sam nodded and turned back to look out the window. Dean was right, he needed to get his mind on the job. They would deal with their own problems when they got back to Bobby's. Right now, they had a case to solve.

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Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	6. Chapter 6

The only source of light in the otherwise dark room came from the small television on the far side of the room. The volume was turned up just high enough that it was possible to hear what the news anchors were saying. Expert hands cleaned a silver pistol, the gun's various parts laid out on the small motel room table. It had been an easy enough hunt. Eradicating a nest of vampires just outside of town. He had hoped his target had been among them, or at the very least the bloodsuckers knew where his target was. Unfortunately for them, they didn't know anything. Not that he would have spared them if they did know anything.

With the gun cleaned, he began putting it back together. He glanced up at the TV for a brief moment, but looked back up again when the anchors began talking about an attack on a group of FBI agents. He got up from his seat, picking up the remote as he went. Turning up the volume, he sat down on the bed and watched the story. Three agents had been out to a cabin in Red Rock, Virginia when they came under attack by a mysterious assailant. His eyes widened when they showed a picture of the woman who found two of the bodies.

"Well, now," he said, a dark grin spreading across his lips. "That's where you've been hidin'. No wonder I couldn't find you, you little abomination. You were hidin' in plain sight."

He switched off the TV and went back to the table. After finishing putting the pistol back together, he packed up his things and went to check out. It was a couple days drive to Red Rock, but he would make good time. The hunt he had started all those years ago was finally going to come to an end.

* * *

Dean studied the hinges of the back door of the cabin. Ireland had been right. By the looks of the hinges, it was definitely the point of entry. Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face. He didn't know how he had missed it. He was usually pretty good at noticing this sort of thing. Maybe Sam was right; maybe he was rusty. It had been a few days since they caught whiff of the case, and it was only now that the FBI had lowered the yellow tape. Dean guessed that there was nothing more they could get out of it.

The eldest Winchester walked around the property, studying every little detail. Lots of trees, so plenty of cover for an attacker. Isolated area, no neighbors to complain about noise. Dean took out his cell phone. And little to no cell phone reception, so not easy to call for help. Dean snapped his phone shut and stuffed it in his pocket again.

This case was bizarre. He now knew that a shifter wasn't involved. Whatever had attacked those men had the strength to rip the back door almost completely off its hinges. Dean rubbed his tired eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to banish the headache that was starting to form. So, if it wasn't a shifter, then what had destroyed the back door and massacred those two agents?

Sighing, Dean opened his eyes again and headed back to the Impala. He needed to regroup with Sam and see if his brother had found out anything. Dean walked around to the front of the cabin. He frowned when he saw another car parked beside his. The hair on the back of his neck began to stand up. Dean spun around, whipping out his pistol as he did so. Another man had a sawed off shotgun aimed at his chest, and Dean had a feeling that the gun wasn't loaded with rock salt.

The two men stared at each other. Green eyes locked with hazel. The man had short dark hair cut in a military style. He wore a dark brown shirt, leather jacket, camouflage khakis and brown hiking boots. He gave off the air of a military man, and it wasn't because of his attire.

"You lurkin' around on my turf, pal?" the man asked.

"Your turf?" Dean repeated. "This is no one's turf."

"You're a hunter, ain't ya?" the man questioned.

Dean frowned. "How did you..."

"I know a hunter when I see one," the man cut in. "You're one of them Winchesters."

Dean cocked his gun. "How do you know me?" he demanded.

The man grinned and lowered his shotgun. "Been following you two for a while," he replied. "You two are legends in the hunter community."

"Are you a hunter?" Dean asked.

The man smiled. "The name's Keith Hall. Which one are you?"

"I'm a Winchester, that's all you need to know," Dean told him.

Keith balanced the barrel of the gun on his shoulder. "Alright, Mr. Winchester, we'll play by your rules...for now. But, just so you know, you're huntin' on dangerous huntin' grounds. It would be a shame to see you and your brother come to an...unfortunate end."

Dean tightened his grip on the hilt of his gun. "What are you talking about?"

Keith moved forward a few steps, making Dean step back. "There are things out there that you don't understand," he said. "Now, you have two choices. One: you can stay and face an untimely end. Or two: you can leave now and leave this hunt to the professionals."

Dean chuckled. "Dude, I _am_ a professional. I've been hunting since I was old enough to hold a gun."

Keith moved a few more steps. "If you stay, I can't guarantee your safety. And it would be a shame to lose the Winchesters."

"Is that a threat?" Dean growled.

"That's a promise," Keith replied. "I suggest you think about it."

He walked past Dean and headed for his car. Dean lowered his gun as he heard the roar of an engine. He stood still for a few moments, heart hammering against his ribs. When he was sure Keith was gone, Dean turned and headed for the Impala. He climbed in behind the wheel and turned on the engine. He pulled away from the cabin and headed back to town. Dean put a hand over his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt. He had faced off against countless monsters and demons, went to Hell and was brought back, and being held at gunpoint had almost given him a heart attack.

"Winchester, you're out of practice," Dean muttered to himself.

He would have Sam do a background check on this Keith Hall guy when he got back to the motel. Right now, he needed a drink.

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: see chapter one

* * *

Dean pulled on to the parking lot of the local bar. He parked in an empty space and climbed out of the car, heading inside. As soon as he stepped inside, his eyes fell on a familiar head of dark blonde hair. Dean made his way over to the bar and sat down in the vacant seat. Ireland glanced over at him. Dean met her gaze and smiled. Ireland smiled back and took a sip of her drink.

"I thought you were on the clock, agent Manson," she said.

"Dean," Dean told her. "My name is Dean."

Ireland shifted in her seat and held out her hand. "Ireland O'Conner. We weren't properly introduced."

Dean took her hand and shook it.

"Strong grip," Ireland noted. "You work out, Dean?"

Dean felt his face begin to burn slightly and he released her hand. "My dad was a former marine," he confessed.

"Ah. Father put his son through marine training, I take it," Ireland guessed.

Dean smiled softly. "Something like that," he said.

Ireland ordered two drinks, one for herself and one for Dean. The bartender nodded and went to prepare the drinks.

"You haven't answered my question," Ireland reminded him.

"Called it quits for the day," Dean answered.

Ireland nodded. "I see. Must be nice setting your own hours."

Dean swallowed thickly. The bartender placed the drinks in front of them. Ireland pushed her empty glass to the side and picked up the full one. Dean picked up his glass and took a sip of the drink.

"So, what's your real name, Dean?" Ireland suddenly asked.

Dean's heart dropped. "Uh," he stammered.

"Clearly you know your own name," Ireland said. "And you must have known I would check the FBI database for an agent Walker and agent Manson."

 _Damn,_ Dean thought.

Ireland looked at him expectantly. "I'm waiting," she said, sipping on her whiskey.

"Winchester," Dean finally answered. "My real name is Dean Winchester."

Ireland nodded. "Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester," she said. She noticed the worried look on his face and started to grin. "What?"

"You're not going to arrest me?" Dean asked.

Ireland thought for a moment. "Not right now," she told him.

"You just said you know I'm not a real agent. You should be slapping the cuffs on me and dragging me back to D.C. for impersonating a federal agent," Dean said.

Ireland shifted again. "I'll make you a deal," she proposed. "If you find out who killed Andrew and Steve and kidnapped Mark, I'll let you go."

"And if I don't find out who killed them?" Dean asked, not being able to help the shaking in his voice.

Ireland patted his shoulder. "Then, you'll be spending the rest of your life inside a federal prison," she answered. She smiled sweetly. "Sound fair?"

Dean nodded and took a long sip of his own whiskey. "Fair enough."

Ireland grinned to herself as she sipped on her drink. "So, who's your partner? If his name isn't Walker?"

"Sam," Dean said. "He's my brother."

"Very good," Ireland commented. "You two seem close."

Dean smiled softly. "Yeah. We've been through hell together. But, we always manage to pull the other back to reality."

"Must be nice," Ireland mused. "To have someone like that in your life. Someone who keeps you grounded."

"What about Mark?" Dean asked.

Ireland looked at him. "Do you see me with another guy?" she questioned.

Dean ducked his head. "Sorry," he apologized.

Ireland sighed and swirled the whiskey around in the glass. "Mark kept me grounded. He was my best friend." She bit her lip as her eyes began to burn. "I hope he's okay."

"We'll find him, Ireland," Dean promised. "That's a Winchester promise."

Ireland looked up at him. "You mean that?"

"Me and Sam, we always get our monster. That's what we do. We save people. And, we'll save your partner, too," Dean vowed.

Ireland gazed down at her drink. "You said you always get your monster. What do you two do, anyway?" she asked.

"We're hunters," Dean confessed. "And not of deer, either."

Ireland swallowed nervously. Her fears had been confirmed. They were monster hunters. She took a breath to calm herself down. She was safe as long as she didn't let slip what she was.

"So, what about your family?" Dean was asking. "Do you have them for support?"

Ireland stared into the golden liquid in front of her. "My family is dead," she whispered.

A horrified look washed over Dean's face. "Ah, hell, I'm sorry," he said regretfully.

"Don't be," Ireland told him. "You didn't know. How could you?"

"What happened?" Dean asked.

Ireland took a sip of her whiskey and swallowed slowly. Her family was a topic she stayed clear of. Not even Mark knew her family background; at least, not what happened to them.

"If you don't want to talk about it, it's fine," Dean said.

Ireland shook her head. "No, no. It's okay," she assured him. "It's just..." She took a deep breath and fought back tears. "I've never told anyone what happened to them. But...I don't know why, but...I feel like I can trust you."

"I hope you can trust me," Dean admitted.

Ireland tapped her fingers against the glass. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip of the drink. Dean waited patiently for her to start talking. He wouldn't rush her. He knew how touchy a subject family could be, especially if there were deaths involved.

"I was thirteen," Ireland began, her voice low. "I was just getting home from school. I walked up to the house...and the door was wide open." She paused and took another drink. "It was strange because Mom and Dad never left the door open like that. I went inside and called out, but there was no answer. I walked into the living room and stopped cold."

Ireland's eyes began to grow wet with tears. Dean reached over and took her hand. Ireland took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"My Dad was on the living room floor...minus his head," she said, her voice shaking. She took another sip of drink. "I didn't scream, never made a sound. I guess I was in shock. However, when I looked into the dining room...and saw my Mom, also without her head...I bolted. I didn't know who killed them, or why." Ireland swallowed thickly, tears threatening to overflow. "I was scared," she whispered, voice shaking. "I was terrified that whoever killed my parents would come after me. So, I ran."

Dean gave Ireland's hand a gentle squeeze. "Anyone would have done the same thing," he told her.

Ireland glanced up at him. "And you?" she asked quietly. "What's your story?"

Dean looked away. "I was four. I remember waking up to the sounds of my Dad yelling my Mom's name. I jumped out of bed to see what was going on and Dad was coming out of Sam's room with Sam wrapped up in a blanket in his arms. Flames were coming out of Sam's room. And Mom..." Dean shook his head. "Mom was on the ceiling, consumed in flames. Dad gave Sam to me and told me to take him outside and run as fast as I could."

"I'm sorry," Ireland apologized.

"That was the day Dad became a hunter, and he took on a mission to kill the monster that killed Mom," Dean said. "So, he trained me and Sam to be hunters, too."

"Did you ever find the thing that killed her?" Ireland asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. We found the yellow eyed bastard," he replied.

Ireland frowned. "Yellow eyes?" she echoed.

"We found out that it was a demon that killed Mom," Dean explained.

Ireland nodded and turned back to her drink. "You and Sam certainly have had interesting lives," she commented.

Dean chuckled. "Indeed we have," he agreed.

"So, what will you do, now?" Ireland asked. "Where do you go from here?"

"We'll check the lore, cross check it with the wounds on your friends' bodies, set a trap and then hopefully we'll bag ourselves a monster," Dean explained.

"Sounds easy enough," Ireland commented.

"Heh. Trust me, it's easier said than done," Dean told her.

Ireland patted his arm. "Well, I'm sure you'll do fine." She finished her drink and paid for the three drinks. "See ya 'round, Dean. You'll do great."

Dean watched as she walked away. He turned back to his own drink. "What do I have to lose?" he asked himself. "It's only my freedom on the line."

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** : Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. Your support means the world to me and I hope you're enjoying the story. As always, reviews and constructive criticism is appreciated. But, no flames. If you don't like the story, don't read it. Negativity never helped anything.

 **Disclaimer** : see chapter one

* * *

He was slammed back into the conscious world as if he had been thrown from a moving freight train. Mark groaned in pain as he cracked his eyes open. The small room was dark, save for a single light hanging above his head. There were no windows and only one door, which was located at the opposite side of the room. Mark looked down to find himself tied to a chair. His wrists were bound to the arms while his ankles were strapped to the legs. He winced as pain shot through his body. What the hell happened to him?

The last thing he remembered he was at the cabin with Andrew and Steven. They had been having a couple of drinks as they waited for Ireland to show up. Mark tried to think back, closing his eyes and forcing himself to remember. There was suddenly a bang at the back door. At first they thought it was Ireland playing a prank on them to try and scare them. However, when the back door was almost ripped completely off its hinges, they knew it was no prank. Something came barreling into the cabin like a rampaging bull. It tore into Andrew and Steven like they were made out of tissue paper. When Mark tried to help, emptying a full magazine into the thing, it turned on him and knocked him senseless. The last thing he saw was his friends being torn open and gutted like fish.

That had been...how long ago? Mark couldn't even recall. It was hard to tell time in this room. He clenched his fists and pulled against the thick rope around his wrists. It didn't budge. He opened his eyes as the door creaked open. Footsteps scuffed across the concrete floor. Mark's heart began to hammer painfully against his ribs. A young man, possibly in his mid to late thirties stepped into the light. He was tall, well built, with cold blue eyes and dark blonde hair. He grinned and the light reflected off of razor sharp teeth.

"What's the matter, agent Tohley?" the man asked. "Scared?" He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. "You should be," he whispered.

"You're the one who attacked us," Mark said.

The man's grin widened. "Ah, so you do remember. I was afraid I had hit you too hard and ended up killing you."

"Why didn't you kill me?" Mark asked.

The man straightened. "You're more useful to me alive than dead, agent Tohley," he answered. He began circling the chair. "There's someone out there who will do anything to get you back. And when the time is right, she'll get you back...but, not in the way she thinks."

"So, you are going to kill me," Mark said.

The man patted his shoulder. "All in due time, agent Tohley. All in due time."

* * *

Sam looked up from his laptop when the motel room door opened. Dean walked in and closed the door. He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it on the bed. Sam watched as his brother went to the small fridge and pulled out a beer. It never ceased to amaze Sam that no matter how much Dean drank at a bar, he always had room for another beer when he got back to the motel.

"Rough day?" Sam asked.

Dean downed half the bottle in one breath. "Sammy, I have a confession to make," he said.

"Oh? What's that?" Sam wanted to know.

"I ran into agent O'Conner at the bar," Dean began. "We got to talking, and I...I uh..."

"You what?" Sam pressed.

"I told her everything," Dean replied.

Sam frowned. "Define 'everything'," he said.

"Everything. Our real names, that we're hunters, how we became hunters," Dean blurted out.

"What?!" Sam cried. "Dean, are you insane?! Why would you do that?"

"I don't know," Dean answered. "It just came...spilling out. It was like I couldn't help myself."

Sam rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "You're an idiot," he said.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious, like I didn't know that already," Dean snapped.

"She could have us arrested," Sam reminded him.

Dean grew quiet and he lowered his gaze to the floor. "About that," he said softly.

Sam looked up. "What did you do?" he asked carefully.

Dean shifted on his feet, feeling like a child who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before supper.

"Dean," Sam said firmly. "What did you do?"

"I kinda...made a deal with her," Dean confessed.

"What kind of a deal?" Sam asked.

"If we found out who killed her friends and took her partner, she would let us go," Dean explained.

"And if we didn't?"

"How does life in a federal prison sound to you?" Dean asked.

Sam slowly nodded and turned back to his laptop. "You're an idiot," he repeated.

Dean walked over to the table and sat down. "Anything on the infoweb?" he questioned.

"Just the same lore we've always known," Sam told him. "Nowhere does it say that vampires and werewolves have ever teamed up with each other."

"Then how do you explain the bodies?" Dean asked. "Their innards were missing, and they were drained of blood. If that doesn't scream werewolf/vampire team-up, I don't know what does." He grew quiet for a moment. "Unless..."

Sam looked up at him. "Unless what?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, it's nothin'."

"Dean, come on. What is it?"

Dean fixed his gaze on the tabletop. "I ran into this guy at the cabin," he started. "He said there were things out there that we didn't understand."

"Was he a hunter?" Sam quizzed.

"He sure talked like one," Dean replied. "He knows us."

A worried look washed over Sam's face. "What did he say?"

"That it would be a shame to lose the Winchesters," Dean answered. "He said we should pack up our things and go home."

"And you're going to listen to him?"

"Of course not," Dean declared.

"Then, why are your hands shaking?" Sam wanted to know.

Dean looked down at his hands, which were shaking like leaves in the wind. He hid them under the table and rubbed them together.

"It's cold," he stated.

"You weren't shaking before," Sam pointed out. His brother looked away. "Dean, what's going on?"

Dean swallowed thickly. He felt like a rookie hunter again. How could he admit to his brother that he got freaked out over being held at gunpoint? He had faced off against werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, ghosts and countless demons. He was thrown into the darkest pits of Hell and came back. Though, if he had to admit to himself, the thought of dying and ending up back in the Pit terrified him. He couldn't go through it...not again.

"Dean?" Sam's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "You okay, man?"

Dean lowered his head. "No, Sammy. I'm not okay," he finally confessed.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"It's the nightmares," Dean told him. "They're driving me mad. I can't remember the last time I had a restful sleep."

"Dean, are you sure you don't remember anything from your time in Hell?" Sam asked. "Because these nightmares...they're telling a different story."

"No, Sam, I can't," Dean said hotly.

"Okay, okay," Sam said, holding up his hands. "Maybe it's all subconscious."

Dean ran a hand over his face. "Maybe," he muttered.

Sam looked out the window before glancing at the clock on his computer. "It's late. We're not going to get anymore info tonight. I'm hitting the sack." He closed the laptop and stood up. "You going to bed?"

"In a minute," Dean said.

Sam walked away and began getting ready for bed. Dean gazed out the window at the cloudy night sky. He knew as soon as he fell asleep he would be plagued by nightmares. He was tired, but he was afraid to go to sleep. He was tempted to ask Castiel for an angelic sleeping pill, but he doubted the angel would even have his ears tuned in to a Winchester's prayers.

He heard Sam crawl into bed and settle down for the night. Dean sighed and got up from his chair. He pulled off his shirt and pants before pulling on his sweat pants and climbing into bed. He switched off the lamp between the beds and laid down. Sam's heavy breathing filled the room. Dean turned over on to his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Castiel? I don't know if you'll even hear me, but if you could...maybe...I don't know...keep the nightmares away just for one night, I'd be eternally grateful," he whispered.

He turned back on to his side and closed his eyes. As sleep began to descend upon him, Dean felt a gentle hand touch his head.

"Pleasant dreams, Dean," the deep voice of Castiel the last thing he heard before he fell completely under sleep's embrace.

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N** : Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. There are no words to describe how much your support means to me. You're awesome! And I really hope you're enjoying the story as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

 **Disclaimer** : see chapter one

* * *

"Dean," a hushed whispered voice sounded from the depths of unconsciousness. "Dean, wake up."

Dean moaned and swatted at the hands that were shaking him. He buried himself further under the blankets, trying to get away from the thing that was bothering him. He hissed when the thing suddenly yanked back the covers, exposing him to the harshness of light. Dean pulled the pillow up over his head.

"Dude, you have to wake up," Sam's voice materialized. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon."

Dean's eyes shot open and he bolted up in bed. "What?!" he exclaimed.

"I've been trying to wake you up for the last two hours," Sam said. "Man, you were solid."

"No kidding," Dean commented.

Sam sat down on the bed. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I feel fine," Dean replied. "Rested, for once."

"That's good. No nightmares," Sam noted.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair. Sam tapped his fingertips together as he looked across the room. The brothers sat in silence for a few moments. Dean felt oddly refreshed. For the first time in a while he had slept soundly. No nightmares, no cold sweats. Just...peace.

"Why did you tell agent O'Conner the truth?" Sam finally spoke. "Usually when you meet women in a bar, you tell them a wild, romantic fantasy story that you think they want to hear. It's not like you to be so openly truthful with a total stranger."

Dean looked down at the floor. "I don't know, Sammy," he said. "I couldn't lie to her."

"What do you mean you couldn't lie?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "I couldn't," he repeated. "Not after..." He swallowed thickly and glanced at his hands. "Not after she was so openly truthful with me," he said softly.

Sam studied his brother for a moment. "Care to elaborate?"

Dean rubbed a hand up his left arm. "After all these years, the places we've been, the people we've met...we never stick around long enough to get to know them," he started. "It's kinda sad, really. You never know what stories other people can tell."

Sam slowly frowned, curious to know where Dean was going with this. He shifted on the bed, but didn't say anything; waiting for his brother to continue. Dean continued to rub his arm, looking around the room.

"She arrived home from school one day when she was thirteen," he said. "The door was wide open, so she went inside. However, when she walked into the living room...she found her parents...dead. They had both been decapitated." Dean looked down at the floor again. "She said she had never told anyone that, and yet she trusted me enough, a complete stranger, to tell me the most deepest, darkest part of herself." He shrugged again. "I don't know," Dean whispered. "Maybe I'm just tired of lying."

Sam grew thoughtful as he absorbed his brother's tale. "That sounds like a vampire killing," he stated after a while. "Did she ever find out who killed her parents?"

Dean shook his head. "No. She was so scared that she would be next, she bolted," he explained.

"How did she seem?" Sam asked.

Dean frowned in thought. "Normal," he replied. "She didn't complain about the lights being too bright, she walked right out into pure daylight."

Sam hummed in thought and ran his fingers through his hair. "Maybe it was only the parents who were vamps," he mused. "I mean, it's not uncommon for vampires to keep humans as pets."

Dean nodded. "Food sources," he added.

Sam took a deep breath and sighed. "I guess we'll never know. Even if her parents had been vampires, she probably would have thought you wouldn't believe her."

"Sam, I told her our mother was killed by a demon," Dean said. "She didn't even blink."

"So, what are you thinking?" Sam asked.

"That she's no ordinary FBI agent," Dean replied.

There was suddenly a knock on the motel room door. Sam got up from the bed and went to answer it. He opened the door to find Ireland standing outside. She looked worn, like she was sick. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot and her breathing was raspy.

"Agent O'Conner," Sam greeted.

"Call me Ireland. Please," Ireland requested.

"Is there something we can help you with?" Sam asked.

Ireland took a raspy breath. "You're needed," she answered. "I know you're not FBI, but you're the closest thing to back-up that I have, right now."

Sam frowned. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Ireland turned her head and coughed into her fist. "There's been another attack," she told him when she caught her breath.

Sam could hear Dean shoot to his feet behind him, which was followed by the sounds of his brother rummaging around for his suit. The youngest Winchester studied the woman in front of him. She looked like she was about to collapse.

"Are you feeling okay, Ireland?" Sam asked.

Ireland nodded. "I'm fine. All this stress...I haven't been sleeping well and it's wreaking havoc on my system." She turned and coughed again. "Stupid cold," she muttered. "Will I see you two there?"

Sam nodded. "Where was the attack?" he asked.

After Ireland gave him the location of the attack, she walked back to her SUV and climbed inside. Sam closed the door as she drove away and started to get ready. Dean was already dressed and groomed and ready to go. Sam quickly got dressed in his suit, combed his hair and brushed his teeth before meeting Dean out by the Impala.

The directions Ireland gave them took the brothers to a quiet residential neighbourhood. Police cars blocked off the street. The Winchesters got out of the car and walked up to the barricade. Ireland was waiting for them. They followed her inside the house and were greeted with a grisly sight. Dean put a hand over his mouth to keep from getting sick. Five teenagers, three guys and two girls, were scattered around the living room. Blood decorated the walls and floor. Their torsos were ripped open, innards gone and blood completely drained from their bodies. Dean wasn't sure what killed them first: The gaping cavity in their bodies, or the lack of blood.

"What sick bastard does this to kids?" Dean growled as he fought to regain his composure.

"That's what I was hoping you two could help me find out," Ireland said.

Sam studied the bodies. The blood present came from the wounds in the teenager's torsos. From what he could gather at first glance, it seemed as though they were torn open as they were drained. Sam got as close to one of the boys as he dared. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he examined the edges of the wounds. Dean and Ireland watched him from where they stood in the doorway.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked, noticing the look on his brother's face.

"Claws," Sam announced. "These wounds were made by claws."

Ireland frowned as she thought. "What kind of animal has claws that can tear someone open in one swing?" she asked.

Dean glanced at her. From the way she said it, he knew she was only saying it for the benefit of the other law enforcement that were present. She knew this was no animal attack. Sam stood up and rejoined Dean and Ireland. The eldest Winchester knew the look in his sibling's eyes. It read "werewolf". Dean noticed a calendar hanging on the wall. The little icon in the bottom corner of yesterday's date depicted a full moon.

 _Ah, hell,_ Dean thought grimly.

He ran a hand over his mouth. This was just the beginning of the full moon cycle. If this really was a werewolf, then they were in for a bloodbath. And, if this was a werewolf like they thought, then the bodies were only going to keep piling up.

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	10. Chapter 10

Ireland sighed as she walked into her hotel room. It had been a long day and with no leads. The Winchesters had gone off to do their own thing, so that left Ireland with only her thoughts and fears. She walked over to the large window on the far side of the room. She watched the traffic pass by below. Something told her that whatever had killed those kids had also killed Andrew and Steven and had taken Mark.

Ireland ran her hands over her face and exhaled heavily. She let her arms fall to her sides as she gazed skyward. The full moon shone brightly overhead. Ireland shivered. She wrapped her arms around herself and continued to gaze at the moon as though it would offer some insight to the murders. Her attention was then brought to the door when the door handle began to turn. Ireland pulled out her gun as the door opened and a tall, haunting man stepped inside the room.

Ireland aimed the gun at his chest. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The man grinned as he closed the door again. The light flowing in through the window reflected off of razor sharp teeth. Ireland's heart began to hammer painfully against her ribs.

"I smelled you," the man said in a low voice, tapping his nose. "You may have been able to fool those two hunters, but you don't fool me, half-breed."

Ireland cocked the gun. "Who are you?" she demanded again.

"Someone who has been tracking you for a while," the man replied.

"Are you a hunter?" Ireland asked fearfully.

The man smirked. "In a manner of speaking."

In a burst of inhuman speed, he shot forward and pinned Ireland to the window. She fought against the strong grip around her throat. Lights burst across her vision before darkness started to creep along the edges of her sight. The man threw her across the room. Ireland grunted as she hit the floor. Gasping for breath, she looked over her shoulder to see her attacker stalking towards her. The door suddenly burst open, banging off the back wall. Ireland's head snapped around. Dean stood in the doorway, a silver pistol trained on the attacker's chest. Ireland dropped to the floor and covered her head with her arms as Dean open fired on the assailant. There was a thud as a body hit the floor. Ireland lowered her arms and pushed herself to her hands and knees. Dean hurried over and knelt down in front of her.

"You okay?" he asked.

Ireland nodded. "Yeah," she replied. "Thanks."

However, her relief was short-lived when a groan sounded from behind her. Ireland and Dean turned to see the man push himself to his feet. Blood seeped from the various bullet holes in his chest.

"Oh, god," Ireland breathed in horror.

"The hell?" Dean muttered.

The man turned blazing eyes to them. Rage shone in the burning green orbs.

"Run," Dean said.

Ireland shot to her feet and bolted after Dean as he rushed for the door. The man shot after them, slipping on the floor and slamming into the hallway wall. Ireland and Dean ran for the doorway at the end of the hall. Footsteps pounded against the floor behind them. Ireland looked over her shoulder to see the man closing in.

"That gun is loaded with silver, right?" she asked.

Dean slammed into the door and Ireland shot past him. They ran down the stairs as fast as they could. Ireland cried out and stopped short when the man suddenly dropped down in front of her. He glared up at them, teeth bared. Dean pushed Ireland behind him and pointed the gun at the man's head. Though, before he could fire off a shot, sirens rang out. Someone must have called the cops after hearing the gunshots earlier.

The man snarled. "Remember this name, human. Rendal Tanner. Commit it to memory, for it is the name of your killer."

He sailed over theirs heads and crashed through the stairwell window. Dean hurried to the window and looked down just in time to see the man land on his feet and take off into the darkness. Ireland leaned up against the wall, closed her eyes and sighed in relief. Dean joined her, tucking his pistol in the small of his back under his shirt. They made their way outside just as officers hurried inside. The sheriff stopped them before they got too far.

"What happened?" he asked. "We had reports come in about gunshots."

"That was me, sheriff," Dean confessed, making Ireland look up at him. "I had told agent O'Conner that I would be stopping by to go over the case, but when I got here I found her under attack by an unknown male. I fired off a few shots, some of them hit, so you'll find blood in agent O'Conner's hotel room."

The sheriff turned to Ireland. "Is that true, agent?"

Ireland nodded. "Yes, sir. I had just returned to my room after tracking down leads to the recent murders when a man walked in and attacked me. If it hadn't been for agent Manson's intervention, we wouldn't be having this conversation," she explained.

The sheriff nodded. "Where's the suspect, now?" he questioned.

"Gone," Dean answered. "He jumped out the third floor stairwell window."

The sheriff stared at him in disbelief. Dean could only offer him a shrug.

"Just telling you what I saw, sheriff. Didn't say it made sense," he stated.

The sheriff nodded again. "Alright. We'll put out an APB. Did he say anything that could help us track him down?"

"He said his name was Rendal Tanner," Ireland replied. "He was tall, muscular, with short dark blonde hair and green eyes."

"Okay, thanks. That'll help a lot," the sheriff said. He turned to Dean. "Good job tonight, agent Manson. We're lucky to have you in town."

Dean smiled as the sheriff walked away. He turned to face Ireland. "So, how did you know my gun was loaded with silver?" he asked.

Ireland swallowed nervously. She had hoped he hadn't picked up on her slip up. He looked at her expectantly. Ireland didn't know what to say.

"How did you know my gun was loaded with silver?" Dean asked again.

"You're a hunter," Ireland said. "Plus it's the full moon and Sam had said those wounds had been made by claws. So, I naturally assumed werewolf. And since it was a werewolf attack, I just assumed the gun was loaded with silver bullets."

Dean looked skyward for a moment before nodding. "Fair enough," he said.

Ireland looked over her shoulder at the hotel. "Guess I should find somewhere new to stay," she mused. "Although, I'm pretty sure that Rendal character will be able to find me no matter where I go."

Dean looked out over the parking lot and saw the Impala pull up. Sam must have just caught wind of the attack. The Impala came to a stop and Sam got out of the car. He hurried over to his brother, looking around at the cop cars.

"Dean, what happened?"

"Superman attacked agent O'Conner," Dean replied.

Sam looked at him with confusion shining in his eyes. Dean shifted on his feet and put his hands in his jeans pockets.

"I showed up just as the wolf was coming down on Ireland," he explained. "I filled him with silver, but the bastard just shook it off. Those bullets might as well have been made out of stainless steel."

Sam shook his head in denial. "No werewolf can shake off silver bullets," he argued.

As the brothers talked, Ireland shifted uncomfortably on her feet, glancing up at the hotel window where her room was. She needed her satchel. Her hands were beginning to shake. She needed one of her travel mugs. The scent that was coming off of the brothers was driving her mad. Ireland put a hand to her nose for a moment before lowering it again. Her heart was still pounding in her chest. What if they found out? She couldn't tell them the truth. If they knew she was part vampire they would cut off her head for sure.

While Dean and Sam talked, Ireland made her way back inside. She headed up to her room where investigators were combing through. She asked if she was able to collect her things and was granted permission. Thanking the officer, Ireland gathered her clothes in her suitcase and satchel and headed outside again, pulling a mug out of the satchel when she was able. She opened the top and took a long drink, sighing in relief when she was finished.

"So, where will you go?" Sam asked her.

Ireland thought for a moment. "I'll probably find another hotel," she replied. "Or stay here and get another room." She shrugged. "In any case, I'm glad Dean showed up when he did. Thanks again for saving my ass," she said.

Dean smirked. "Any time, agent O'Conner," he replied. "Yours is an ass worth saving."

"Dean," Sam whispered in embarrassment.

Ireland smiled, shook her head and made her way to her vehicle. Sam and Dean watched as she got into her car and drove off. Sam tapped his foot as he thought. He turned to face his brother.

"You filled a werewolf with silver and he still kept going?" he asked.

"It just seemed to piss him off," Dean stated.

"Huh," Sam muttered. "Weird."

"That's an understatement," Dean commented. He headed for the Impala. "Let's head back to the motel. I'm beat."

From the shadows of the trees, two glowing green eyes watched as the Winchesters climbed into their car and drove off. He would have to be more careful next time. Those hunters would prove to be difficult adversaries to deal with. Rendal hissed in pain, looking down at the bullet holes still seeping blood. That short haired one, Dean, he would have a fun time ripping his heart out.

Rendal sank back into the darkness, away from the prying eyes and lights and back into the shadows where his kind thrived. He would have his fun with the Winchesters. But, right now, he needed to rest and heal. The Winchesters would have their turn...when the time was right.

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer** : see chapter one

* * *

Rendal roared as another bullet was pulled out of his chest. His werewolf associate, a former doctor by the name of Ken O'Brian, dropped the accursed object in a steel tray. Ken allowed Rendal to catch his breath before he proceeded to extract another bullet. Ken mentally cursed. If he had access to anesthetics this would be going a lot smoother. Unfortunately, when he had been bitten two years ago, he relinquished his practicing license in fear of losing control and feeding on his patients.

He had come across Rendal Tanner around the same time. He was a bitter and angry young man hell bent on revenge. Who he was seeking revenge on, Ken didn't know; nor did he ask. He just knew the man needed help, in more ways than one. So, Ken tagged along, becoming Rendal's medic and confidant. Ken was surprised to find out that Rendal was like him. However, there was something special about Rendal. He was a werewolf, yes, but somehow, silver didn't have the same effect on him as it did on other werewolves.

"Dean Winchester, you are going to die!" Rendal roared as Ken pulled out another bullet with some degree of difficulty.

He fell against the old mattress, his chest heaving heavily for breath. Ken studied the craftsmanship of the bullet. To anyone else it looked like a plain silver bullet, but to Ken, he could almost see the spirit of the one who created it. He dropped the object into the tray and prepared to remove the last bullet.

"I underestimated her," Rendal gasped. "I didn't think she would rally forces so quickly."

"She's resourceful," Ken agreed.

He reached his tongs into the final hole and gripped the bullet within. Rendal yelled out as the last of the silver was removed. He gasped for breath, no longer feeling the burn of the silver. He looked down at his chest which was riddled with holes. He collapsed against the mattress again, cursing under his breath.

"I will take great pleasure in killing Dean Winchester extremely slowly," Rendal snarled.

"You won't have much of a chance against him in your current condition," Ken told him. "You need to rest, to heal. Dean Winchester will not be leaving anytime soon. Hunters don't leave their hunting grounds until the monster is dead. You have time."

Rendal sneered. "I have faced off against countless hunters in worse shape than I'm in now," he said. "I can take him."

"From what I've heard about the Winchesters, they aren't hunters you want to run into in a dark alley," Ken explained. "They are ruthless, merciless. They will find your weakness, I can promise you that."

Rendal huffed in annoyance. "They'll be dead before they find my weakness," he declared.

"At the very least, you still need to heal," Ken told him. "So rest. Relax. The Winchesters aren't going anywhere. You will have your revenge. Just not now."

* * *

"You filled a werewolf with silver and it didn't kill him?" Bobby asked in astonishment.

"Yeah, I was just as shocked," Dean said.

"That's not possible," Bobby argued.

"Apparently, it is," Sam replied.

Dean could almost picture Bobby scratching his head in bewilderment. He had Bobby on speaker phone so Sam could hear what he had to say as well.

"Did it even slow him down?" Bobby asked.

"Actually, I think I just pissed him off more than I hurt him," Dean answered.

"Damn," Bobby muttered.

"Have you ever heard anything like it before?" Sam asked.

"There's nothing in the lore that says a werewolf can brush off silver," Bobby explained.

"Could it be something other than a werewolf?" Dean questioned.

"Even if it wasn't a werewolf, just being shot in the chest would have dropped it," Bobby told him.

Dean ran a hand over his face. "I really hope we're not dealing with a god," he grumbled.

"I'll check the lore. See if there's anything in the books that resembles your mystery monster," Bobby said.

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said.

"You kids be safe," Bobby instructed. "We don't know what you're dealing with or how to kill it. I don't want to hear that you two ended up being this thing's next meal."

"We'll be fine, Bobby," Dean promised. "Call us when you find something."

Both sides hung up. Dean snapped his phone shut and sighed. He ran his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. Sam sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the tabletop.

"A werewolf that can shake off silver," he muttered under his breath.

"I thought it was a werewolf," Dean said.

"We both did, Dean. The wounds on the victims screamed werewolf," Sam reminded him.

Dean lowered his hands to his lap. "I don't get it, Sammy," he said.

"You don't get what?" Sam asked.

Dean sighed. "Remember the days when we were hunting demons and looking for Dad? When burning bones killed ghosts and silver killed werewolves?"

Sam smiled. "Yeah, those were the simple days," he said.

Dean looked out the window. "What I wouldn't give for those days again," he mumbled.

Sam shifted in his seat. "They were also pretty tough," he commented, making Dean look at him. "We were all we had. Mom was dead, Dad was gone. We only reconnected with Bobby before Yellow Eyes showed up."

Dean looked away and hummed. Sam studied his brother's expression.

"Do you regret doing it?" he asked.

Dean glanced at him. "Regret what?"

"Selling your soul," Sam clarified.

"Hell no," Dean replied. "I'd do it again if I had to."

"You serious?"

"Being torn to pieces by a hell hound was no joy, don't get me wrong," Dean said. "And waking up six feet under with no idea of how you got there was more than a little nerve wracking. But, if I had to do it again, I wouldn't hesitate."

Sam nodded slowly as he thought about his brother's words. Dean gazed out the window again. It was beginning to rain. The sound of the rain against the window began to morph into the cracking of flames. Screams echoed through Dean's memories. Screams he had released as he was being tortured. Screams of other souls as they were being tortured. Dean seemed to shrink into himself as he felt the sharp kiss of a knife against his skin.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked and he was back in the motel room. Sam looked at him in concern.

"You okay, man?" the youngest Winchester asked.

"Just thinking," Dean told him. "I'm fine."

Sam suspected his brother wasn't fine, but he didn't say anything. Dean's mood was still a bit touch and go at times. Sam had really hoped that this hunt would get his brother's mind off of the nightmares and back into the real world. Sadly, Dean was still battling his own demons, which he decided to do alone. Sam wished his brother would stop being so stubborn and talk to him about what was bothering him. Usually, they had no problems talking to each other; telling the other where to go and how to get there in a way that didn't point them back to each other. However, since Dean had been pulled from the Pit, he had closed himself off to those around him who wanted to help.

Sam got up from the table and started to get ready for bed. Dean stayed where he was and gazed out the window at the pouring rain. He wondered how Ireland was doing. He hoped she had found a new place to stay. His eyes fell on the Impala. The sleek black car glistened with raindrops under the glow of the neon motel sign. Dean's gaze drifted beyond the car. He frowned when he thought he saw someone standing just short of the neon lights. The figure had a sawed off shotgun balanced on their shoulder. Dean swallowed thickly, recognizing the figure's posture.

What was Keith Hall doing snooping around their motel?

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer** : see chapter one

* * *

Dean walked across the motel parking lot, pulling on his jacket as he went. The rain came down so hard it hurt when it hit his skin. Dean squinted against the wind and the rain, making his way over to where Hall was standing. The other hunter waited patiently, watching the eldest Winchester as he approached. Dean shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. Keith stepped further back into the shadows, just in case the other Winchester was keeping an eye on his brother.

"What are you doing here, Hall? How did you find us?" Dean demanded.

"Word travels fast in a small town," Keith replied. "Especially when the word on the street says that the FBI were involved in a shootout."

"Then, why do I get the feeling you're not here to congratulate me on a job well done?" Dean asked dully.

A ghost of a smile tugged at Keith's lips. "You make a decision, yet?" he wanted to know.

"You mean, am I ready to throw in the towel and call it quits?" Dean asked.

Keith shrugged. "Same difference," he said.

Dean gave him a death glare. "We're not goin' anywhere. You can find your own hunting grounds. These ones are taken."

Keith chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Winchester, but the beast you shot tonight is mine to kill. I've been after that bastard for far too long to just give up the hunt."

"Too bad for you," Dean stated. "We're staying. Take that and shove it."

He turned to leave but the sound of a gun being cocked made him stop.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Mr. Winchester," Keith said. "As I've just said, I've been hunting this beast for far too long to let a broken down hunter take the credit."

Dean huffed in disbelief. "Broken down hunter, huh?" he repeated.

"It's the eyes," Keith said. "They tell the true story. You try to hide it for the benefit of your brother, but you can't fool me."

Dean turned around to face Keith again. "You don't know a thing about me, pal," he said.

"Don't have to," Keith replied. "I have ears. I hear things. You and your brother have been up to some very interesting activities."

"Such as?" Dean quizzed.

"Your Daddy," Keith answered. "Making deals with devils."

Dean's defenses immediately went up. "The hell you know about that?" he growled.

"I hear things," Keith reminded him. "There's always someone willin' to talk for the right price. You've made some very deep impressions with a lot of people over the years, Mr. Winchester. And not all of them were good."

Dean took a deep, quiet breath as he shifted on his feet. Raindrops fell from his lashes, blinding him momentarily. The hunters stared at each other for a moment before Keith chuckled and looked away.

"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into, Mr. Winchester," he said. "I told you before and I'll say it again, you're messing with things you don't understand."

"And you do?" Dean asked.

"I've been hunting this thing since you were still learning how to melt down silver into bullets," Keith told him. "It can't die. Not by traditional means, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" Dean wanted to know.

Keith looked at him and grinned. "You know what I mean," he said in a low voice. "You saw it for yourself. Ten bullets...and it never even slowed it down."

Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat, his heart hammering rapidly against his ribs. Keith tilted his head to one side, studying the eldest brother. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked at the man in front of him.

"What's the matter, Mr. Winchester? Scared?" Keith asked.

"Of you? Hardly," Dean answered.

Keith shook his head. "Not talkin' about me, son."

Dean's breath hitched, remembering the blazing green eyes as they glared at him. He had never seen a werewolf like that before. Something wasn't right about it. Keith seemed to notice the look on his face because he began to grin.

"I told you, Mr. Winchester. There are things out there that you don't understand. I suggest you do the smart thing, and pack up and head home."

"Dean?" Sam's voice called out through the wind.

Dean turned his head in the direction of the motel. Keith slipped further into the shadows.

"Heed the warning, Mr. Winchester," he said. "For the next body they pull out of the gutter just might be your own."

Dean didn't turn to watch him walk off. He swallowed again, his throat feeling extremely dry. Dean took a breath and headed back towards the room. His clothes were soaked through and he was beginning to feel a chill. He wiped at his face, trying to banish the water that was dripping into his eyes. Sam stepped to the side as Dean walked into the room.

"Who were you talking to?" Sam asked.

Dean ignored his brother and began to peel off his soaked jacket. Sam closed the door and stepped up to his brother.

"Dean?"

Still no answer. Sam reached out.

"Dude, talk to me."

Dean whipped around and caught Sam in the nose with his fist. His brother stumbled back, his hand to his face. Dean gasped for breath, his eyes coming into focus. Sam looked up at him with wide eyes. Dean blinked several times, his own eyes widening when he realized what he had done.

"What's up with you, man?" Sam demanded, looking down at his hand to see if the punch had drawn blood.

"Sammy, I...I didn't mean..."

"Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?" Sam asked, facing his brother. "You're spinning wheels here, man. You're losing control."

"I never had any control to begin with," Dean whispered, looking away.

"Then talk to me," Sam pleaded. "I want to help you. But, I can't unless you tell me what the hell is going on with you."

Dean ran a hand over his face, causing water to fall from his hair and into his eyes. He slowly started to shake his head.

"I don't know, man," he breathed. "I'm losing my mind. Coming back...I ain't handling it very well."

"You said you didn't remember," Sam said.

"You try being ripped apart by a hell hound and then waking up four months later six feet under," Dean snapped. "You can't just shake off dying, Sam. Believe me, I've tried. I've begged and I've pleaded with Castiel to fix me and he's never answered." He stepped towards the window, running a hand over his mouth. "I know I said I wouldn't hesitate to sell my soul again if it meant saving you," he said. "But, damn it, I wish I would stay dead."

Sam stood silent, listening to his brother's words. "You mean that?" he asked quietly.

Dean put his hands on the back of a chair and leaned against it, hanging his head. "I'm no good to anyone, Sammy," he whispered. "Just being held at gunpoint sets me on edge now."

Sam didn't know what to say. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he could see the brokenness in his brother's posture. The shattered look in his eyes. The fire had burned out, the spark was gone. The thing that made him Dean Winchester wasn't there anymore. He put on a brave face and an air of bravado, but this man in front of him now...this was what his brother really was. Broken, scared, defeated. Dean wasn't Dean anymore. And Sam didn't know how to fix him.

"What do you want to do?" Sam asked.

"I want to crawl into a hole and never come out," Dean muttered. "My mind isn't on this case. I don't think it ever was."

Sam nodded. "We'll get some rest and then head out first thing in the morning," he said.

Dean looked up and sighed. "Car needs gas," he remembered.

"I'll go fill her up," Sam said.

Dean pulled out the chair and sat down as his brother got dressed. Sam walked over to the door and put his hand on the handle, pausing for a minute.

"We'll figure this out, Dean," he said. "We always do."

Dean sat quietly as Sam left the room and headed out into the pouring rain. He watched through the window as his brother unlocked the Impala and climbed inside. Dean put a hand over his eyes. They never left a hunt unfinished. He felt terrible for throwing in the towel so early. However, his mind wasn't in the game. He had been pulled in too early. He hadn't been ready to hunt again just yet.

Dean sighed. Maybe after a few more weeks of rest at Bobby's he would be back on his feet. And, if he ever saw that haloed bastard in a trench coat, he was going to tell him just what he thought about him, only a fist or a gun was going to be involved.

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	13. Chapter 13

Ireland ran across the grocery store parking lot to her car. She squinted through the blinding rain, clicking the button on the keys, looking for the yellow flashing lights. She groaned in irritation when a car lit up at the end of the lane. She cursed as she remembered that was the closest she could park. Ireland pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she hurried the rest of the way, her shoes squeaking against the wet pavement. When it rained, it poured.

Ireland's head snapped around when her sensitive ears picked up something over the wind. She looked around, vision obstructed by the rain and her hair. Ireland searched for the source of the sound, but couldn't see anything. A gunshot suddenly rang out and the back window of a nearby car shattered. Ireland screamed and ducked for cover as another gunshot exploded. She threw herself between two cars, dropping to the ground. She could hear people scream and the gun roared again. Ireland crawled around the cars to the other side, bringing her closer to her own car.

"Come on out, agent O'Conner," a man called, followed by the sound of a shotgun being cocked. "We have unfinished business."

Ireland chanced a glance through the window of the car she was behind. She could see a tall man with short dark hair and a military style outfit walking towards her. Ireland dropped to the ground again, heart hammering in her chest.

"You may have those brothers fooled, but I know what you are," the man yelled over the roar of the wind. "You can't hide from me."

Ireland felt her heart sink to her stomach. Her worst fears had been realized. Someone, a hunter most likely, knew her true self. Ireland inhaled, catching a familiar scent on the wind. It smelled like...Dean. Whoever this guy was had been in close proximity to Dean, and recently for the scent to still be that strong. If she could follow the scent, like a vampire blood hound, she could find the Winchesters.

"Found ya."

Ireland cried out as the man suddenly appeared and grabbed the back of her jacket, pulling her out of hiding and throwing her out into the open. She toppled to the pavement, hissing in pain as her palms were scraped raw. Ireland pushed herself to her feet, turning just in time to dodge the swing of the butt of the gun. The man swung the barrel, which Ireland just barely dodged. He struck out with the side of the gun, catching Ireland in the face. She stumbled back, holding a hand to her nose.

"Now you die, half-breed scum," the man snarled, taking aim.

Ireland jumped to the side, yelling out as the bullet tore through her left arm. She caught herself and ran to her car. Jumping into the driver's seat, she turned the car on and shot out of the parking lot. Ireland looked in the rear view mirror and watched as the man grew smaller and smaller the further she drove. She hissed in pain and glanced down briefly at her bleeding arm. She fought to catch her breath. That had been too close. She was lucky he hadn't been swinging a machete at her head.

Ireland rolled down the window, gasping in pain. The wind blew in through the open window. Tapping into her vampire half, Ireland turned her head to the window and inhaled deeply. The scent was strongest coming from the East. She turned East and continued following the scent. It was slow going, the smell of her own blood masking the scent she was trying to track. Ireland tore off a piece of her shirt and wrapped it around her arm while trying not to drive off the road or into other cars.

With one scent gone, she was able to pick up the trail again. Growling in annoyance when she realized she was going the wrong way, Ireland turned around, picking up Dean's scent again. It was times like this she was glad she had a powerful sense of smell. She was even more thankful that she had the Winchester's scents committed to memory. Of course, it wasn't hard when one Winchester reeked of sulfur.

Finally, Ireland was pulling into an empty space outside the Rocky Road Motel. She climbed out of the car and stumbled over to the door where the sulfur smell was most powerful. With her good hand, she made a fist and banged on the door. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see the crazy man with the shotgun. Her head snapped around when the door opened. Dean stood in the doorway, eyes wide.

"Ireland?" he asked. His eyes fell on her bleeding arm. "What the hell happened?"

"Can we talk inside?" Ireland panted. "Please?"

Dean immediately stepped to the side and Ireland hurried inside. He closed the door again.

"What happened?" he asked again.

Ireland yelled in pain as she tried to move her arm. "Some crazy guy with a gun started shooting at me," she explained.

She unzipped her jacket and pulled her good arm out of the sleeve. Dean helped her get her other arm out, throwing the soaked jacket on the chair. He pulled another chair over and Ireland sat down, gasping for breath. Dean rummaged through the bags until he found the first aid kit.

"Who was the guy?" he asked as he started to unwrap the makeshift bandage.

Ireland shook her head, biting her tongue against the pain. "I don't know," she gasped when the cloth was pulled away from the wound. "He just kept yelling how we had unfinished business."

"Did you get a good look at him?" Dean questioned as he began cleaning the wound.

Ireland put her hand in her mouth and bit down on it as the cleaning alcohol burned. "Short dark hair. He wore a military type outfit."

"Hall," Dean growled under his breath.

Ireland looked down at him. "You know him?" she asked in disbelief.

Dean briefly looked up at her before returning to his work. "We've met a couple of times," he replied.

"Wonderful," Ireland commented.

"We're not friends, by any means," Dean assured her. He picked up a pair of tweezers. "This is going to hurt like hell," he warned.

Ireland inhaled sharp and deep as Dean inserted the tweezers and pulled out of the bullet. Tears instantly filled her eyes, blurring her vision. Dean dropped the bullet and tweezers on the bloody cloth and took out a needle and some thread. Moving quickly and carefully, he stitched up the hole. Ireland released her pent up breath and fell back against the chair. Dean wrapped her arm up in a clean bandage, cleaned and wrapped up her palms and began cleaning up the mess. Ireland looked down at her arm.

"Where did you get sewing needles and stitches?" she asked.

"I raided a lot of hospitals," Dean replied.

Ireland laughed, which morphed into a wince. "Oh, don't do that," she told herself. "That hurts."

Dean discarded the bloody cloth and the bullet in the trash and wrapped up the needle and tweezers in a spare bag in the kit.

"You're lucky he only got you in the arm," he commented.

"Tell me about it," Ireland said. "I don't even know why he was shooting at me."

"You said he said you two had unfinished business?" Dean asked.

Ireland looked up at him. "Hey, man, I don't know the guy. I have no idea what he was rambling on about," she defended herself.

Dean shook his head. "Man, you are a trouble magnet," he said.

"What do you mean?" Ireland asked.

"Being attacked twice in one night?" Dean told her. He frowned. "How did you find me, anyway?"

Ireland swallowed down the lump in her throat. "There's only two hotels and one motel in town," she started. "I knew you weren't at the hotel I just moved out of, and I didn't see you at the hotel I'm currently in, so I figured you must be here."

It was as good an explanation as any, and Dean seemed to buy it, so she saved herself for the second time in one night. She couldn't tell him she followed his scent. That would sound wrong on so many different levels.

"I hope you're not planning on going anywhere tonight," Dean said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"What do you mean?" Ireland asked.

"I don't trust you to let you be on your own," Dean teased. "And, I thought me and Sam were bad for attracting trouble."

"I didn't ask to be attacked, Dean," Ireland reminded him.

"In any case, you're staying here," Dean told her, leaving no room for discussion.

Ireland looked around the room, seeing no other sleeping options than the two beds. She glanced up at Dean and shrugged.

"You can take my bed," Dean said. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"I can't sleep in soaked clothes, genius," Ireland replied.

Dean sighed and went over to his duffle bag. He pulled out an old shirt and sweat pants. He tossed them to Ireland.

"Here."

"Does this mean we're going steady?" Ireland asked with a sly smile.

Dean rolled his eyes and Ireland laughed. She got up from the chair, tossing the clothes on the bed.

"Need any help?" Dean asked automatically.

Ireland stopped what she was doing and looked at him. "I bet I wouldn't be the first woman you helped undress, would I?" she asked.

Dean suddenly realized what he had said and felt his face begin to burn. He cleared his throat.

"No. But, you would be the first FBI agent," he answered with a grin.

Ireland pointed to the bathroom. "You can wait in there," she instructed.

Dean held up his hands and retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. A few minutes later he got the all clear. Dean came out of the bathroom just as Ireland was crawling into bed. He picked up the wet clothing and went to hang them up on the side of the bathtub. He sat down in a chair and gazed out the window. Something didn't sit right with him. What did Keith Hall want with Ireland? And what did he mean by they had unfinished business? Dean sighed and settled back in the chair. There was no use worrying about it tonight. But, one thing was for sure: Dean wasn't going to skip out of town. Not after this.

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N** : Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. Your support means the world to me and it keeps me writing. You guys rock!

 **Disclaimer** : see chapter one

* * *

Dean looked out the window at the stormy night. Sam was taking a long time getting gas. He hoped his brother was okay. Dean flinched when his phone started to ring. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the phone and opened it, placing the phone to his ear.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"I think I've found something," Bobby's voice sounded on the other end.

Dean sat up straighter. "What'd you find?" he asked.

"It's called a vaewolf," Bobby replied.

"Vaewolf?" Dean echoed in confusion. "Never heard of it."

"Well, that's because they're rare. Extremely rare," Bobby explained.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"It's the love child of a vampire and a werewolf," Bobby told him.

Dean blinked in surprise. "Vamps and werewolves mate?" he asked in disbelief.

"I'm sure they do. But, like I said, it's rare," Bobby said.

Dean ran a hand over his face. His gaze drifted over to Ireland who was sound asleep in bed. Every now and then she would twitch and moan as though she were having a bad dream.

"So, how do you kill it?" Dean asked, returning to the conversation.

"Lore doesn't say," Bobby replied. "But, your best bet is to slow it down with silver then slice its head off."

"Fantastic," Dean grumbled, sitting back in his chair. He glanced over at Ireland again when she began to cry out. "Thanks, Bobby. I'll let Sam know. I gotta go."

"Alright. Be safe," Bobby said.

"Will do."

Dean hung up and placed the phone on the table. He got up from the table and went over to the bed. Kicking off his shoes, Dean carefully climbed on top of the blankets. He gently wrapped his arms around Ireland, pulling her close but being mindful of her wounded arm. She settled down with the embrace. She reached up and gripped Dean's shirt. He noticed tears streaming down Ireland's cheeks. No doubt she was dreaming about her friends and partner. Dean rubbed her back and she fell back to sleep.

"We'll find him, Ireland," he whispered. "I promise."

* * *

When Sam walked through the door of the motel room, he was good and soaked. It seemed with the storm, everyone got the same idea he did. He didn't know why they felt the need to go out in bad weather and fill up their cars when they could have done it the day before or day after. The only reason he did it was because they had to leave in the morning. However, when he saw his brother cuddled into Ireland on his bed, both of them sound asleep, Sam had a feeling Dean had changed his mind on going home.

Sam wondered when Ireland had shown up, or why her arm was bandaged. He figured he would get the full story when they woke up. He peeled off his soaked clothes, dumping them in the bathtub to dry and pulled on his warm, dry pajamas. After rubbing his hair dry with a towel, Sam climbed into his own bed and turned off the light.

Outside, Keith Hall watched the light switch off in the Winchester's room. He growled in annoyance. She sought sanctuary in the one place he couldn't reach her. He would have to wait to resume his hunt. She couldn't stay by the Winchester's sides forever. Sooner or later she would stray from their protective gaze, and when that happened, he would be there to take her out like the monster she was.

* * *

 _Her hands glided over Dean's bare back as he kissed her neck. His skin was like silk, his touch was tantalizing. His lips found hers and he captured her in a passionate kiss. He was the master, she was the puppet. She was a captive to his touch. His fingers slowly ran up her side, sending chills up her spine. She let out a sigh of pleasure. A sly smirk crept across Dean's angelic face. He leaned down again and kissed her lips before pulling away. She opened her eyes, but gasped when she saw Mark above her; drained of blood and gutted like a fish._

Ireland's eyes shot open with panic. She gasped for breath, looking around. She was in a different room than her own, and for a moment she couldn't remember where she was. Someone shifted beside her. Ireland looked up to see that she was leaned into Dean's chest. Her head fell back to the pillow and she closed her eyes. Where did that dream come from?

"Rise and shine, Dean," Sam's voice sounded from somewhere in the room.

Ireland's heart dropped. Sam was here? He saw her wrapped up in his brother's arms? Could this get any more embarrassing? Dean shifted again as he groaned. Ireland pulled away from him as he stretched. She hissed slightly in pain as the stitches in her arm pulled when she moved. Dean rubbed his eyes and looked up. Sam was looking down at him with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Did uh...anything happen while I was gone?" Sam asked.

Dean frowned, until his gaze fell on Ireland. She smiled and waved at him. Dean then remembered his comforting tactic.

"She was having a bad dream," he said.

Sam nodded then shrugged. "Whatever happened is between you two," he said. "However, I'm a little confused as to why you're here, agent O'Conner."

Ireland swallowed thickly. "I was attacked last night," she answered.

"What? By who?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. He just kept saying we had unfinished business. But, I don't know the guy," Ireland explained. "And I couldn't go to the hospital because that would be the first place he would look for me, since he shot me in the arm." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I just hope I didn't put either of you out by coming here."

Sam shook his head. "You did the right thing," he told her. "And, you didn't put us out. Anything you need, we're happy to help."

Ireland smiled. "Thanks, Sam."

Dean grunted as he pushed himself up off the bed. "Oh, while you were out last night, Bobby called," he said to his brother. "He found out what that thing was."

"What was it?" Sam asked.

"A vaewolf," Dean replied.

"Vaewolf?" Sam echoed. "Never heard of it."

Dean shook his head. "Neither have I," he said. "Bobby said they're rare. Like one of a kind rare."

Ireland swallowed nervously. She still didn't know how she was going to tell them that she was a dhampyre, or if she should even tell them. Maybe if they knew what she was, they could help her better. But, they were hunters, they killed creatures like her. She had always suspected that it had been a hunter who had killed her parents when she was a teenager. And by the way that hunter was yelling last night, she had a feeling he had something to do with her parent's deaths.

"So, how do we kill it?" Sam was saying.

Dean shrugged. "Hell if I know. Bobby said the lore didn't say anything about a weakness. But, he did say that our best shot is to fill it with silver and then chop its head off."

Ireland instinctively put a hand to her throat. Why did her only shot at finding Mark have to be hunters? She had spent her entire life running from hunters. Her parents had always told her that if she saw a hunter to run the other way. Ireland had come to discover that hunters had a different scent than normal civilians. They reeked of blood, even when they weren't covered in blood. And the older the hunter, the stronger the scent.

"Did Bobby say where they like the lurk?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "He failed to mention it. But, I get the feeling that this...vaewolf isn't going to be hunting around in a pack or nest," he said.

"True," Sam agreed. "So, what's the plan?"

"Working on it," Dean said.

"You have no plan," Sam stated.

Dean sighed and shook his head. He rubbed his eyes. "This case just keeps getting weirder and weirder," he commented.

Ireland sat on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest as she listened to the brothers talk. This vaewolf was a dangerous adversary. She wasn't even sure if their plan to kill the thing was going to work. Even though nothing could survive without a head. All she could do was sit back and hope for the best. But, with this new hunter on top of the vaewolf, she was concerned that the brothers would be in over their heads.

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N** : Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. Sorry it took a while for me to update, but life kind of got in the way. Hopefully I'll be able to get back on track with updating. Thank you so much for your support. It means the world to me.

 **Disclaimer** : see chapter one

* * *

Rendal looked down at the sleeping form of Mark Tohley, his green eyes glowing in the dim light. Ken stood behind him, leaning up against the door. It had been a few days since Rendal had been shot by Dean Winchester, and his wounds had healed nicely. Ken was pleased with his progress and had deemed him fit to hunt again. However, Rendal just hung around the warehouse, watching Tohley with a burning hatred in his eyes.

"May I ask you something?" Ken spoke, breaking the suffocating silence.

"What's that?" Rendal asked.

"Why haven't you eaten him, yet?" Ken questioned.

Rendal sneered in contempt. "Death is too kind for the likes of him," he snarled. "Besides, I have other plans for this human."

"Which are? If you don't mind my asking," Ken said.

Rendal turned around and looked upward. Ken followed his gaze to a camera he hadn't noticed before. He wondered when that had been installed. Rendal seemed to notice his confused look.

"As we speak, another one of my associates is working on agent O'Conner's laptop," he explained. "It will link the computer to that camera."

"Okay?" Ken said, confused.

Rendal walked over to him and patted his shoulder. "You will soon see, my friend. You will soon see."

* * *

Keys rattled in the lock and the door handle twisted. Ireland and Dean walked into the room. Ireland had insisted on going back to her hotel, but with two attacks in one night, the brothers didn't want to take any chances, so Dean offered to escort her back. Ireland tossed the keys on the table and threw her jacket on the bed.

"So, what are you going to do, now?" Dean asked.

"I have five murders to solve," Ireland told him. "I'm not leaving, even though that's what you want me to do."

"We know what killed those kids," Dean replied.

"But, is the thing dead? No," Ireland said. "I'm not leaving until it is. I appreciate your concern, Dean, but I am FBI. I know how to take care of myself."

"Against humans," Dean pointed out. "Not..."

"Vaewolves?" Ireland finished. She smiled and looked down at the floor. "If only you knew," she whispered, so low that Dean almost missed it.

"What?" Dean asked.

Ireland shook her head. "Nothing. Never mind. Not important."

She went over to her laptop and turned it on. Only, as soon as the computer turned on, it went straight to a dark screen. Ireland frowned in confusion.

"The hell?" she asked.

Dean walked up behind her. "What is it?"

A light suddenly turned on and the screen lit up. Ireland let out a gasp when she saw Mark tied to a chair. He looked beaten up, with a black eye and busted open cheek, but alive. Ireland's heart pounded rapidly against her ribs as a man stepped into view of the camera. She recognized him as the man who had attacked her the first time.

"Greetings, agent O'Conner," the man said. "Welcome to the execution of your partner."

A second man stepped into the light. Mark began to fight against his binds as he approached.

"I have kept agent Tohley alive for this purpose," the first man, Rendal Tanner continued. "So, you can witness first hand the beginning of your end."

The second man held Mark's head back, exposing his neck. Ireland and Dean watched in horror as the man sank his teeth into Mark's neck. He pulled away, leaving a bloody wound behind. At first it seemed like nothing happened, but then, Mark began to spasm.

"What did he just do?" Ireland whispered in horror.

"He's a werewolf," Dean realized.

Rendal watched the transformation. "As you may have guessed, my associate here is a werewolf, as is your partner." He took out a small vial from his pocket. A dark crimson substance gleamed in the light. "But, that's not all."

Rendal grabbed Mark by the throat, forcing his mouth open. Opening the vial, Rendal poured the substance down Mark's throat. The agent choked as he fought for air. However, he had no choice but to swallow. When the liquid was gone, Rendal released his hold on Mark and stepped away.

"What the hell's happening?" Ireland breathed.

The second man handed Rendal a pistol and a bullet. Dean knew immediately that it was a silver bullet. Rendal put the bullet in the gun and cocked it, aiming at Mark's chest.

"Your time is up, agent O'Conner," he said.

Ireland jumped and cried out as a gunshot rang out. Mark fell limp in the chair. The room was deathly silent. Ireland and Dean stared at the computer screen with wide, horrified eyes. Ireland had her hands over her mouth in stunned shock. Her body began to tremble as her eyes started to burn. Then, movement. Mark's body twitched, which was followed by a groan. Ireland slowly frowned as Mark raised his head. She heard Dean muttered something behind her, but she was too focused on the screen she didn't hear what he said. Mark let out a low, hungry growl. Rendal turned to face the camera again.

"There is nowhere you can hide, agent O'Conner," he said. "We will find you, all of you. You and those hunters you've cozied up too. Be warned, for your days are numbered. This is the beginning of the end."

The screen went black again. Dean cursed under his breath as he pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Sam's number and put the phone to his ear.

"Pack your things," Dean said as the ringing stopped on the other end. "Sam. We've got a problem. A major problem."

Ireland forced herself to her feet and began gathering her belongings. This wasn't happening. There was no way this was happening. What had she just witnessed? What had she just seen? What did that bastard do to Mark?

"We're no longer hunting this thing," Dean was saying. "It's hunting us."

"What do you want to do?" she heard Sam ask.

"Get as far away from town as possible," Dean replied. "We don't know anything about this vaewolf. We don't know how to kill it if we run into it. We need to regroup and go over our options, but we can't do that if we're dead. I'm not one to run from a fight, but this is one fight I know I can't win. I'll see ya soon, Sammy."

Ireland finished packing her clothes and laptop and followed Dean out the door. After a quick check out, they left the hotel and got into Ireland's SUV. She drove Dean back to the motel so he could get his car and Sam. Sam was just packing up the Impala when Ireland pulled up beside him. Dean jumped out of the car. He turned to face Ireland.

"We'll follow you," he told her. "Go to the last place they'd look."

Dean closed the door and turned around. Sam tossed him the keys and he got in behind the wheel. The SUV and Impala pulled out of the motel parking lot and were soon racing towards the town limits. Sam looked over at his brother, seeing Dean's hands loosen and tighten around the wheel.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Ireland's partner is now a thing like that Rendal guy who attacked her," Dean replied.

"He's a vaewolf?" Sam asked in horror. "How?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, man. He was bitten and then he was forced to drink what I assume was vampire blood. And then Tanner just up and shot him with a silver bullet."

"Maybe that's how people are turned into vaewolves," Sam mused.

"Get bitten by a werewolf, consume vamp blood and then get shot with silver?" Dean asked. "That seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through to turn someone."

"Maybe that's why vaewolves are so rare," Sam speculated.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "How many werewolves and vamps are going to agree to work together to turn humans into hybrids?"

Sam shrugged. They continued to follow behind Ireland's SUV. Soon, Dean wasn't even sure where they were anymore. They stopped a few times to gas up their cars, but they were on the road again soon after. It was well past midnight by the time they entered the town limits for Carmel, Minnesota. He followed carefully behind Ireland as she drove through town. Finally, she pulled into the driveway of a modest two story house. The house looked like it hadn't been occupied in years.

Dean pulled in behind Ireland's car and turned off the engine. The brothers got out of the car as Ireland climbed out of hers. She pulled out her suitcase and satchel and walked up to the front door. Dean and Sam gathered their own overnight bags and joined Ireland on the front porch. She found a key on her keychain and inserted it in the lock. She took a deep breath and turned the key. The lock clicked open. Ireland twisted the door handle and opened the door.

They stepped into a large mudroom. They kicked off their shoes and walked into a small hallway that opened up into a spacious living room and dining room, which led into a large kitchen. The brothers took out flashlights and looked around.

"Ireland, where are we?" Sam asked, walking up to a fireplace.

He shone his light on a cluster of pictures on the mantle. They showed a family of three. A father, mother and their daughter. The girl had dark blonde hair and smiling green eyes. She looked just like her mother. Sam picked up a picture and looked at it. Ireland gazed around the living room, a haunted look in her eyes.

"Home," was all she said.

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	16. Chapter 16

Dean and Sam looked at each other before facing Ireland. Each brother had the same questioning look on their face. Ireland gazed around the room, her eyes sad and haunted, as if seeing ghosts from the past. Dean walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"This is where your parents were murdered?" he asked in disbelief.

Ireland nodded. "It is," she confirmed.

"Why here?" Sam wanted to know.

"Dean said to go to the last place Rendal would look for me," Ireland answered. "This is the last place I would look. Considering I haven't been here since I was thirteen."

Sam looked back at the pictures. "If it's been that long, how is the house still here?" he asked.

"The kids love it," Ireland said, her voice dull. "I mean, what teenager wouldn't love to spend the night in a house where two people had their heads chopped off?" Her eyes fell to the floor. "Makes for a good haunted house."

"And?" Dean asked, sensing that there was something else.

Ireland swallowed down the lump in her throat. "I told town council that it was part of an ongoing FBI investigation," she confessed.

The brothers looked at her with surprise. "You've been looking into your parents' murders," Sam realized.

Ireland nodded. "I wanted to know why them," she said quietly. "What sins did they commit that were so horrendous that their lives had to be taken like that."

Sam turned back to the pictures on the mantle. Ireland cleared her throat, trying to dispel the heavy silence that had fallen.

"Anyway, sleeping arrangements," she said. "You guys can have the master bedroom. You can either share the bed or I could set up a bed for one of you on the floor." She frowned in thought. "Actually, I think the cot might still be here."

She moved out of the living room, grabbing her bags and headed upstairs. The brothers watched her leave before turning to look at each other.

"She's one tough cookie," Dean commented.

"Cookies crumble eventually," Sam pointed out. "It's only a matter of time before being here starts getting to her. You and I know that better than anyone, especially after what happened in our old house."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sammy. I remember. Mom sacrificed herself to save us." He shook his head. "I would rather not have watched her burn a second time." He picked up his duffel bag. "Anyway, we'd better go and see if we can help."

Sam nodded in agreement and followed his brother upstairs. This was going to be an interesting night.

* * *

Dean lay on his back on the cot, staring up at the ceiling. Sam's steady breathing was the only thing breaking the silence. Dean sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. He couldn't sleep, he was too on edge. He stood up and made his way out of the room. Walking down the hall, he noticed that Ireland's bedroom door was open, but she wasn't inside. Looking down over the railing, he noticed a light coming from the living room.

Dean headed downstairs and walked into the living room. Ireland was sitting on the couch, a picture in one hand and a flashlight in the other. In the low light, Dean could see streaks of tears streaming down her face. Without saying a word, he made his way over to the couch and sat down next to her. They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither one feeling like talking at the moment. Finally, Ireland spoke.

"How can you do it?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Do what?" Dean asked back.

"Surround yourself with so much death," Ireland replied. "How do you not crack from the mental strain?"

Dean took a breath and exhaled deeply. "This job...it gets to ya," he admitted. "I won't deny that. It takes it toll, but you learn how to roll with the punches."

"And what if you can't get back up?" Ireland questioned. "What then?"

"Is this about what happened to your partner?" Dean asked.

Ireland took a shaky breath. "It would have been more merciful if he had been killed. I think I would have dealt with it better if I had found Mark's body in a ditch somewhere. I wanted to find him...but not like this." She wiped tears from her eyes. "Mark was the closest thing I had to a brother." Her breath hitched. "Why couldn't he just have died like my parents?" she whispered agonizingly.

"It's psychological warfare," Dean told her. "He's trying to break you, he's trying to get you to mess up so you'll be more vulnerable and easier to take out."

Ireland looked down at the picture in her hand. Her tears fell on to the glass. "My Dad...God rest his soul...he used to tell me, 'Ire, it's okay to be afraid of the dark. The dark is a scary place, but you never have to worry, because Daddy will always be there to chase away the scary things inside of it.'"

"What was his name?" Dean asked curiously.

"Alex," Ireland answered. "Alex O'Conner. My Mom's name was Susan. She was a nurse."

"What did your Dad do?" Dean asked.

"He was a mechanic by trade," Ireland replied. "Hunter by profession."

"He was a hunter?" Dean asked in disbelief.

Ireland nodded. "And not of deer, either," she said with a sad smile. "He was one of you."

Dean stared at the picture in Ireland's hand. "He got out," he whispered in awe.

"Yeah," Ireland said. "He always said that meeting Mom had saved his life. But, they weren't without their secrets."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

Ireland looked at him. "I'm sure your parents had secrets of their own," she told him. "Things they kept from you, thinking that they were protecting you." Ireland glanced around the living room. "My folks always seemed like they were looking over their shoulders. They tried to hide it, of course, especially around me, but I could tell that they were haunted by something." She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "I guess whatever was haunting them finally caught up with them."

"If there's one thing I learned from being a hunter, it's that death is never truly good-bye," Dean said.

"People don't come back from the dead, Dean," Ireland stated.

"I did," Dean replied.

Ireland looked at him in confusion. "How?" she whispered in disbelief.

Dean swallowed thickly and looked around the room. "I sold my soul to a demon in order to save Sam's life," he started. "The demon gave me a year before I was dragged down to the Pit. I remember being torn apart by a hell hound...and then nothing...until I woke up four months later six feet under in a pine box."

"You were in Hell?" Ireland breathed in horror. "How did you get out?"

"An angel by the name of Castiel," Dean explained. "He reached down and pulled me out. For what purpose, I have no idea."

 _Well, that explains the smell of sulfur,_ Ireland thought.

Dean put a hand on her knee, making her look up. "We'll figure this out."

"Is that a Winchester promise?" Ireland asked.

Dean smiled, but didn't say anything. Ireland slowly leaned over and carefully locked her lips with Dean. At first she thought he was going to pull away, but he leaned into it and kissed her back. The taste of his lips were like honey. It ignited a burning hunger inside of her. She wanted more. She wanted him, all of him. Ireland suddenly pulled away as she felt her vampire half claw its way to the surface.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I shouldn't have done that."

"I'm not complaining," Dean said.

Ireland licked her lips, still tasting the nectar on her lips. If his skin tasted that good, she could only imagine what his blood tasted like. Ireland mentally cursed herself. Curse her vampire blood lust.

"Ire? You okay?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine," Ireland answered. "It's just...being in this house again, after so many years...it's like coming back to a bad dream." She placed the picture on the coffee table and got to her feet. "It's getting late. I'll see you in the morning."

Dean watched as she headed upstairs. He sat in the dark for a few minutes. After a while, he got up and went upstairs. Ireland's bedroom door was open a small crack. He peeked through the opening into the room. Ireland was sitting on the edge of her bed, hunched over, her body shaking. Dean inched the door open another bit before opening it all the way. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He could hear the heart wrenching sobs coming from the woman before him. Dean made his way over and sat down on the bed next to her.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Ireland leaned into his chest as she continued to sob. After a few minutes, her sobs ebbed away and silence fell. Ireland looked up at Dean who met her gaze. They leaned towards each other and their lips met. As the fire began to burn, Ireland leaned back on the bed, pulling Dean with her. He followed her down, continuing the kiss. If she couldn't have his blood, then she would have his body.

Dean reached over to the flashlight that was sitting on the nightstand. With one click the room was cast into total darkness.

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N** : Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. Real life is kicking my ass. I've got little time to write and it sucks. I'll try to update as soon as I can, but it may be a little while between updates. So, please be patient with me. Your support means the world to me and I don't want to leave you hanging without an update. So, without further ado, here's chapter 17. Hope you enjoy.

 **Disclaimer** : see chapter one

* * *

The sun filtered in through the window, illuminating the room beyond the curtains. Dean lay on his back with Ireland cuddled into his side. He had his left arm wrapped around her with his other arm draped across his chest. Dean stirred and cracked his eyes open, looking over towards the window before glancing down at the woman tucked up against his side. He reached up and ran his fingers through her hair. Ireland stirred and moaned sleepily.

Her eyes flickered open, her gaze locking with Dean's. A tired smile touched her lips. Dean smiled back, leaning forward and kissing her gently on the lips. Ireland ran her hand over his chest, leaning into the kiss. Damn, he tasted so good.

"Sleep okay?" Dean asked.

"Mmm hmm," Ireland hummed, laying her head on his chest and closing her eyes. "Do we have to get up?"

She just wanted to lie there, wrapped in his arms. How she longed to make him hers. However, Dean Winchester could not be tamed. Ireland shifted as Dean began to get up. She pulled the blankets up over her nude body as she watched Dean get dressed. She stayed where she was as Dean made his way to the door. If Sam caught them again they would never hear the end of it.

Ireland lay there for a good long while after Dean left. She could hear the shower running in the master bedroom. She could also hear Sam's steady breathing, which meant he was still asleep. Ireland pushed herself up out of bed, grabbed her clothes and toiletries and headed for the bathroom down the hall. She got showered and dressed and opened the door just in time to bump into Sam.

"Good morning," Sam greeted.

"Morning," Ireland replied with a smile.

Sam studied her for a moment. "You feeling okay? You look a little pale," he said.

Ireland nodded. "Just a little tired. Had a late night last night. Being back in the old place and all that, ya know?"

It was Sam's turn to nod. "I know how that feels."

Ireland stepped to the side to let Sam into the bathroom. She went back into her room, grabbed a travel mug from her satchel and stepped out into the hall again. Dean was just coming out of the master bedroom, showered, shaved and freshly dressed. They made their way downstairs and waited for Sam to finish his shower.

"It's a wonder this place still has running water," Dean commented as Ireland took a sip from her mug.

"When I told council that the house was still part of the homicide investigation, I asked them to keep it exactly the way it was when the murders happened," Ireland explained. "Being an FBI agent has its perks. No one questions you."

Dean hummed in thought, sensing that there was more to the story. Ireland took another sip from her mug, hoping Dean wouldn't ask anymore questions. Unfortunately, she had no such luck.

"Is there another reason why you asked to keep the water going?" he asked.

Ireland lowered her mug and sighed. She had been nothing but truthful with him...with certain things...might as well keep the truth going.

"I needed a safe house," she admitted. "Somewhere...if things ever got out of control, like they are now, I would have a place to hide out until the heat died down. Which is why I've also been paying for the light bill as well as the water bill."

Dean nodded. "Beats sleeping in shifty motel rooms," he commented.

Ireland smiled and chuckled. "I bet it does," she said, lifting the mug to her lips.

The two turned to see Sam walk into the kitchen. "So, what's the plan?" the youngest brother asked.

"First, we get breakfast," Dean said. "Then, we can do whatever the hell we want."

"Maybe it would be a good idea to check in with Bobby again," Sam suggested. "To see if he's found anything on how to kill a vaewolf."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Good idea," he said. "But, first, breakfast."

The three piled into the Impala and Ireland directed Dean to a quaint little cafe not far from the house. Ireland brought them to a cozy corner table by the window. Sam couldn't help but notice that some of the other patrons were giving them odd looks. He wondered if it had anything to do with the murders of Ireland's parents. A woman that looked to be in her late fifties, early sixties came up to the table.

"What can I get for...Ireland?" she asked in awe. "Ireland O'Conner?"

Sam and Dean looked around to see everyone looking their way. Ireland's pale face started to turn a light shade of red from the attention.

"Yeah, Sally. It's me," Ireland replied.

"Goodness, girl," Sally breathed. "We haven't seen you around here in...I don't know how long. We all thought you were dead."

Ireland shook her head. "Nope. Very much alive. Just been...laying low. Didn't know if whoever...ya know...was coming after me next."

"Where have you been?" Sally asked.

"Oh, here and there," Ireland answered. "I move around a lot."

Sally nodded. "Of course. Of course. But, anyway, you didn't come here to gab," she said as she pulled out a notepad and pen. "What can get for you three?"

The three friends ordered the same bacon and egg breakfast with coffee and an orange juice for Ireland. Sally wrote down their orders and walked off to leave them to talk among themselves. Dean glanced around the cafe. Some patrons still peeked over at them every now and then, as if they didn't believe that it really was Ireland O'Conner who was sitting in the corner.

"They really thought the worst when you disappeared, huh?" Dean asked in a low voice.

"A husband and wife are found decapitated in their own home and their thirteen year old daughter has up and disappeared. Yeah, I'd say they thought the worst," Ireland said.

"How close knit is this community?" Sam quizzed.

"Small town like this, everyone knows everyone," Ireland replied. "And word travels fast. If something bad happens, it's usually already passed through the town before it hits the papers."

"I don't think I'd be able to live like that," Sam commented. "Having everyone know your personal life."

"It wasn't easy first starting off," Ireland confessed. "When we moved here, we were outsiders. It took a while for mom and dad to gain the trust of their employers and co-workers. And of course, I had a hard time making friends."

They paused in their chat when their food arrived. Sally topped up their coffees and went to see to another patron. The friends began eating, falling into a comfortable silence as they ate. For a moment, Ireland felt as though she was back in her youth, eating breakfast with her mother and father. It was a nice feeling; and she wished it were possible.

They finished their breakfast and paid for the meal before heading out to the car. They went back to the house and Sam set up his laptop in the dining room. Ireland lay down on the couch, her head beginning to pound with a migraine and Dean headed out again to buy a few groceries with some money that Ireland gave him so they didn't have to rely on takeout and cafe food everyday.

Sam glanced over at the couch when he heard Ireland begin to cough. He found it strange that she had been fine yesterday, but now it seemed she was coming down with something. He remembered when she had come to get him and Dean back in Red Rock to help with the murders of those five kids, back when the vaewolf had first appeared. She had been sick then, too. Sam wondered if it was the stress of the situation that was making her sick, or if it was something else. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Bobby's number.

Ireland could hear Sam's voice off in the distance, but she couldn't pick out what he was saying. Her head was pounding, her chest was tight, her sinuses were congested, she could hardly breathe. How she hated the daylight. How she hated being half vampire. It was all she could do not to scream out her confession to Sam about what she was just so he would put her out of her misery.

Then, a horrible realization began to dawn on her. Could it be, that whoever had killed her parents, had killed them because they knew the truth? What if the real target had been her mother, and her father was killed just because he got in the way? Ireland put a hand over her eyes. Or was it something else entirely?

* * *

Reviews are welcome, flames are not


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